


Siren Song

by Science_your_ass7



Category: DC Batman Universe, Gotham City Sirens - Fandom, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien-friendly, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Basically living a criminal’s life with a hint of humor, Gotham City Sirens, Innocents be warned, Is that term even existing?, Less Wise-Grandpa-Turtle-ish, MLBxDC, Master Fu is kinda of out of Character, Only in my story they take their time to appear, Sirenette, Slow Burn, Swearing, There are Heroes I swear, Villains and stuff, Welp I guess it does now, fighting scenes, marinette is so done, sarcasm and humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22477054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Science_your_ass7/pseuds/Science_your_ass7
Summary: „Okay, Marinette. It‘s just a cat, a nice furry cat, you like cats, not every cat, but cats in general aren’t that bad, they don‘t pun afterall, or at least not in a language accessible to you, so it’s nothing threatening at all, stop being a hypocrite, shiting yourself in fear won‘t help.“ she mutters, tightening the light jacket around her shoulders, and her clothes, sticking to her body like fresh dough does to dry fingers.What she would have given right now to have a blanket. Or at least a scarf, anything able to give her a little bit more warmth. To feel warmer.Not sickingly wet and disgustingly gelid.But it‘s not exactly like she laid down to sleep prepared.Or the story how Marinette Dupain-Cheng one night randomly woke up in Gotham City and suddenly got adopted by the Gotham City Sirens.Disclaimer: I neither own Miraculous Ladybug, nor any character from the DC Universe. All I only claim as mine is the plot.
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel / Harley Quinn | Pamela Isley / Poison Ivy | Selina Kyle / Catwoman, Marinette Dupain-Cheng / Ladybug | Harleen Quinzel / Harley Quinn, Marinette Dupain-Cheng / Ladybug | Pamela Isley / Poison Ivy, Marinette Dupain-Cheng / Ladybug | Selina Kyle / Catwoman
Comments: 52
Kudos: 287





	1. Me? Criminal? Of course not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first time for me writing something and I'd like to warn beforehand: This story is realistic and a little grittier for those who are actually searching for some Fluff here. I mean it will get sweeter, but only later and somehow I felt like I had to explain it.
> 
> Also this will be focusing onto Marinette's relationship with the Sirens than hers with the Bats, even though they will definitely be featured.
> 
> So, random reader, if I haven't already scared you away, you are welcome to read as long as you don't mind my semi-good writing skills. I'm hoping to improve with this.

~  
She knows she‘s followed by someone before seeing him in the blurry with raindrops reflection of a car window.

Her steps resound in the empty streets, illuminated by a few vintage lanterns and the pavement glows in amber, by the reflected light in the huge puddles.

Shivering at the freezing, light rain, the cold breeze brushing past the dark city, she walks over the flooded pavement, her bare toes feeling numb and clammy after them being exposed to the wrath of cold for what it seems like hours, but in reality probably didn‘t even trespassed ten minutes.

Yes, you heard right, she‘s alone, miserably cold and ready to pass out to sleep. Not even mentionned she’s the heck where on earth, in only a jacket made of a fabric one’s able to see through with how thin it is and her hand-sewn Chat Noir pyjamas.

If she wouldn‘t be currently freezing to death (bless you) then she‘d be embarrassed for sure. (Not like anybody sees her with absolutely nobody here, but she‘d freak out anyway and no amount of good logic would be able to change that.)

One tap to her ears and she knew she‘s on her own. Whereever she is, Tikki is still in her room.

It calms her.

Really.

In an urgency, Tikki could just find herself a new holder to capture the Akumas instead. There is a pretty good chance Hawkmoth won‘t get the Ladybug Miraculous, depending on whom the Kwami will choose.

But duh, she has faith in her decision. The Kwami is a literal million-year-old god and is familiar with the concept of finding a choosen after doing it almost since her existence.

Steps, new ones, coming and sounding from behind, make her increase in speed, her feet flying over the wet stone.

Her realizing the clichée situation, a lonely lady going around the streets, and getting attacked, isn‘t calming her raging breath at all.

She wouldn‘t be surprised at all to gaze behind her and see a huge camera aiming at her. The regisseur next to it, yelling for her to look more frightened for the climax movie scene of a new action flick, if that’s even possible.

Cause one more threatening sound out of the dark and she‘s positive she‘d faint.

A shade to her right catches her attention, so she jerks away. Wouldn‘t want to interfere with her cursed luck any more than possible now.

But obviously, she is just paranoid, her luck may be rotten, but she won‘t start to panic too, she can‘t allow herself to sink in her fear.

Decisions made in panic immediately can lead to her death.

And being death is pretty the opposite to what she needs right now.

Okay, Marinette breathing. 

She passes a corner and drowns the urge to look back.

„Okay, Marinette. It‘s just a cat, a nice furry cat, you like cats, not every cat, but cats in general aren’t that bad, they don‘t pun afterall, or at least not in a language accessible to you, so it’s nothing threatening at all, stop being a hypocrite, shiting yourself in fear won‘t help.“ she mutters, tightening the light jacket around her shoulders, and her clothes, sticking to her body like fresh dough does to dry fingers.

What she would have given right now to have a blanket. Or at least a scarf, anything able to give her a little bit more warmth. To feel warmer.

Not sickingly wet and disgustingly gelid.

But it‘s not exactly like she laid down to sleep prepared.

Of course, she felt confused, dare she call it, utterly finished with her life.

Just this same evening she nicely went to bed in Paris, gently took off her earrings before showering. She even dried and brushed her hair before laying down so it won‘t look like cat napped inside of it in the morning.

And now she‘s here, her hair ruined, her toes freezing, and not even knowing if she‘s still in France or not.

Despair catching onto her, she wondered if this is just a really realistic and vivid dream. Another nightmare to remember and laugh about once she wakes up in her warm bed, secure and amused with her wild fantasy.

Or that it was the after-effect of an Akuma attack somehow making her see and live through these things. Honestly wouldn‘t have been the strangest thing happening with Miraculous magic and all that stuff.

Maybe it‘s even real.

Her breathing leaves clouds in the air, covering the sight on the darkened shapes of windows from a shop.

Looking into the window, she makes out a figure, coming across the pavement. Closer to her.

The breath of air howls around her ears, making her feel like chased by a pack of hungry wolves.

Either she will run or fight, there are no other options, for her right now. But she has to remind herself she‘s not Ladybug right now, Marinette is more clumsy, and mortal. She has no magic yoyo to fight, (would have been too easy for her life to give her, wouldn’t it?) so she‘s completely alone. Not even a nice Kwami is able to convince her otherwise, since it‘s not here.

Turning on a corner, she glances back, careful to seem unsuspicious.

The only things, she was able to register on him, was his lean statue and a black coat with a dark coloured hat. Jealous of his covering, and seemingly warm, clothes, she breathes out through her nosedrills, speeding past a red car on a parking spot.

As she joggs over the water covered stone, she suddenly slips on her feet and her hand crashes against the stone of the ground. (Clumsiness be damned.)

She yelps out in pain when the skin rips and starts bleeding, and she bites down her whimper, continuing her way, clutching her fist to her heart.

When she turns her head to check on her follower, she gasps in horror. He is only a few meters away now, he could easily jump at her if he wants to.

The shade from his hat masks his face, making him seem somewhat more dangerous.

She won‘t be able to flee, she is too tired after running around for what it seems like hours (again she‘s sleep-starved). He, on the contrary, appears to add into his speed with every minute passed. It‘s useless to waste her energy more, fighting in a few moments will make her more powerless anyway.

So she stops, spinning around to her opponent and stares at him with a deadpan expression, in hope to scare him off, but she’s just a wet sixteen-year-old girl, so she’s an idiot.

„What do you want?“ she speaks out, a thick accent noticeable. Not that she would bother, he won’t find out where in France, she lives anyway.

She keeps herself from taking a fighting position, pressing her lips tight together, making them drain of blood. Maybe they can still handle it the peaceful way and merrily laugh off the tension.

The man doesn‘t move a muscle, just continues to stare at her from the shadows of his hat.

„Depends on what you can offer.“ he suddenly says, his voice rough and hoarse, probably unused in ages, and strangely reminding her of the sounds, the engine, her parents car uses to make.

He does not seem like a person to back away or lose without a fight. His front pocket is full, probably a weapon, but guessing by its shape, a small pistol or a knife.

She frowns in concentration, trying to think about a way out of this conversation without directly leading to a physical conflict.

Her years as the unofficial school mediator (these kids tend to be hormonaly aggressive and she as the class president always had to save someone‘s neck from snapping) should have given her some experience with that.

„I‘m sure I have nothing you would value.“ she makes sure her voice sounds confident enough, despite the persistent feeling of fear, but has no spike.

She‘ll stay friendly for now.

The man barks a laugh, but it sounds more like a slimy cough. „That depends on my decision, Girlie.“

She clenches one hand to a fist, hissing out in pain, when the sensitive skin stretches around the bruise.

She certainly does not like being treated rude, she dislikes arrogant people and she absolutely hates being adressed from above as if she‘s someone defenceless.

That‘s certainly not helping.

„I have no money and I‘m not born in a wealthy family.“

When he remains silent, she sighs tiredly, closing her eyes for a few peaceful seconds.

„Do you really want this? We can just leave and pretend it never happened instead.“

Quickly his hand snaps into the pocket of his coat, pulling a pistol outside. His thumb loads the weapon, creating a clicking sound.

„If you dare to scream, I‘ll kill you.“ he voices, pointing with the pistol to her head.

Marinette shakes her head in sadness, raising her hands above her face. „Why are making this so difficult for nothing? Please just leave and don‘t turn back. For your own health, forget you ever met me.“

Despite her, friendly spoken, words, his compositure stiffens in answer. „I think you are hardly in the position to make offers, girlie.“

On contrary to her inner emotions, she shakily smiles. „I‘m certainly not trying to be impolite, believe me! I just want to end this peacefully, violence is no answer.“

He shoots to her feet, making his threat crystal-clear. She jumps back in surprise.

A husky laugh. „Violence answers everything, Girlie! And since you‘re not going to bring me any money, I‘ll just kill you.“

She pouts, shifting on her feet, trying to get rid of the coldness from the stone, seeping into her feet more than ever now that she‘s not walking anymore. „You sure that‘s necessary? There are a few people depending on me.“

Internally she grimaces. More like the whole world, but that‘s useless to tell him, he wouldn‘t believe her anyway.

She is almost convinced she can see him grinning, but it could be just a shadow too. „They‘ll survive.“

Opening her mouth again to respond, she takes a breath.

Then the pistol suddenly moves closer to her face as he steps forward. „I said I‘ll kill you if you won‘t be quiet. So shut up.“

She blinks. „Actually, you said-“

„Are you stupid? I said shut up!“ He presses the gun barrel to her forehead, she can see his face now since he‘s close enough.

He owns a rather friendly face, short brown hair, brown Bambi-eyes, sharp cheekbones, slim nose. He could be a model, if there wouldn’t be dark circles around his eyes and he wouldn’t have a breath smelling like a stash of rotten onions.

Disgusted, she tries leaning away without moving too much.

„I will kill you, I will paint the streets with your blood, write words with it on walls, use your organs as footballs, your brain as a trampoline, I will make you die slowly, first I‘ll strip of the beautiful skin of yours and look if you‘re still beautiful without it. Then I‘ll rip out your teeth, one after one and see if your smile will still be as radiant as before.“ he whispers, his tone sounding almost awed with himself.

She slowly breathes out, wiggling on her feet. „That‘s certainly rather disappointing.“

A frown appears on his facial features. „What?“

„I said I‘m a bit disappointed with how it turned out.“ she repeats.

The pistol presses harder against her skull. „Are you dumb? Can‘t you hear? I said I will make you suffer. I just described how I will skin you. And you say you‘re disappointed?!“ he shrieks.

She sighs.

„Oui, I indeed heard that and I won‘t be sleeping peaceful for a few weeks, but like I said, are you sure you want this? Your descriptions were pretty illustrating and.. passionate, but do you really with all of your heart want this?“ she asks.

He frowns in anger, but she can see the confusion behind it.

„Why aren‘t you begging? I want you to beg, to cry, to swear, I want you to choke on TEARS!“ he yells.

She flinches at his volume.

„Mon dieu, you are quite a psychopath, non?“

A slap resounds in the street. Marinette needs a shocked moment before she realizes, she was the one to get hit and starts to feel the pain.

„I said CRY!!“ Her cheek burns, but it‘s nothing compared to the anger building up in her.

She can handle a lot; Chloe bullied her for ages; Hawkmoth akumatized her friends and made her fight against these; Lila threatened and cornered her; a long and unrequited crush on Adrien Agreste.

She is persistent and wouldn‘t want to break now, but that‘s enough. Hawkmoth can‘t reach her here, Tikki can’t calm her, no one will see her minute of weakness.

For once in a while, her emotions aren‘t dangerous to be released.

She is free.

Unburdened.

And angry. So fricking tired and angry and if it looks like he‘s the one to feel her pent-up frustration on himself now, then she‘s too weak to stop it.

He said himself he wants it the bad way? So what kind of worthy Hero would she be to refuse to a civilian’s wish now.

She‘s kind afterall. At least kind enough to beat the crap out of him now.

Grabbing and turning his hand away from her forehead, she makes him shoot into the stone.

„You want me to cry for you?“ she mocks and twists his wrist, so the gun crashes to the pavement. He cries out in rage, withdrawing his hand.

„Y-you bitch!“ he lunges forward, she steps aside. Her eyes narrow in hate.

„I thought my name was Girlie?“ Marinette catches the fist, which wanted to smash her face, and presses her nails into the flesh of his backhand.

Blood.

The stranger gasps out in pain and surprise and bares his teeth. „I will crush your head and enjoy it!!“

Her knee aims at his stomach and hits.

„You dirty little-“ he curses.

He pulls on her wet streaks twisting her head backwards, she cries out in rage and partially pain, but mind you, it‘s more the spiking rage (She‘s like the most angry, she can ever recall in her life).

She wildly kicks her legs at him to free herself from his grip and uses her fist to hurt him in answer, his cheekbone breaks, his beauty decreases.

„French brat! I will kill your friends and family! You will-“ he calls.

Removing the wet jacket from her shoulders, she straightens it and wraps it around his throat, pulling it tight.

He coughs, trying to shake free, she lets him and then spins on one foot, hauling off her other leg and hitting his chest. He flies to the floor, clutching his ribs in pain, and looks up at her.

Fear in his Bambi-eyes.

She rolls her eyes, spitting to the floor. „Dear Lord, I can‘t believe I‘m here dealing with you instead of watching some TV at home.“ Her heel hits into his stomach, he howls out in pain, trying to roll away.

She moves her foot to stay on his throat, putting her weight on him to stop him from crawling.

„I will find you and you will pay for that! You will pay with your BLOOD!!“ he yells, his face is twisted in anger, his hand trying to push himself up.

Her foot moves to cover his mouth. „Shhh, you talk too much.“

Then he suddenly bites into her toe. What person just bites into toes?! Not even mentionned how fucking painful that is besides to rude!

„Owowowow, OW-“

She withdraws her foot from his teeth to jump on one leg in pain, he stands up again, holding his ribs.

He stares like the creep, he is. „On second thought, I won‘t kill you. I think I‘ll just hold you in my basement and torture you sometimes. You‘ll see how much fun it‘ll be, just the two of us.“

Yep, creepy.

Marinette moves to stand on both legs again (her toe is still throbing like hell).

„Yeah, no. Not interested, I’m a minor anyway.“ she says, doing a dismissive hand gesture and turning up her face in obvious disgust.

He has the decency to laugh coldly. „You don’t have a say in this, Girlie.“

She bends her knees. „Try me.“

Marinette attacks first. She jumps at him, crashes against him. He falls backwards, she meanwhile moves to sit on his chest and brings his head to stay in the crook of her knee.

Grabbing her ankle, she pulls it to her, the muscles tighten around his throat, and she feels his pulse protest through her pants while doing so. (Such an odd feeling to focus on in such a decisive moment, I mean she‘s literally fighting for her life right now, but it‘s super strange).

He tries pushing her away, his nails burrow in the fabric of her sweatpants, but she stays in place, ignoring his nails searching for blood, and he chokes, his face quickly turning red with the lack of oxygen.

„Greetings to Hawkmoth.“ she whispers, when his eyes finally shutter closed after a few seconds of fighting for his conscience.

A breath and she lessens the pressure on his circulation. He‘s not dead (she‘s neither that frustrated nor that cruel, thank you), just unconscicious, she can still feel the blood running on his neck, only slower.

She bows lower, reaching for his hat hesistantly. Now when the adrenaline rushed to leave her body again, she‘s starting to feel slightly insecure.

Is it rude for her to steal his clothes after he tried to shoot her?

It‘s so incredible how she only a few minutes prior used her jacket to strangle someone and now she‘s insecure enough to question the reasons of moral again. She‘s not possibly having a multitude of personalities switching from time to time, right?

Well worries be pushed aside and back onto the question, he does is an ass AND he tried to kill her. It couldn‘t possibly be consired as rude. Even Tikki‘s never-ending kindness could admit that much.

After a few (not panicking) strongly emotional moments, she wrings out her hair despite the still light rain coming from above and takes his clothes to shield herself from the cold.

His hat protects her head and ears.

His shoes cover her freezing toes.

Careful to avoid touching him for too long, she unwraps his black coat from his body, constantly fearing he will wake up any minute.

Then she notices the pistol next to her foot, and after hesitating for a few seconds, she grabs it too. Just to be prepared.

She wears his coat over her own wet pyjamas now, and eyes him critically, thinking about stealing some more things than just his clothes, maybe money or his cell phone.

The jerk threatened to skin her afterall.

Just as she is about to look in the pockets of his pants, her stupid conscience suddenly awakens.

Superhero, huh?

„What? He tried to kill me!“ she says defensively.

Her inner voice raises a metaphorical brow.

You look pretty alive to me.

Stomping with her foot, she finaly moves away from the passed out man. „Fine! But if I‘ll die, it‘s your fault!“

Clattering with her teeth loudly, the numbing coldness sitting in her bones, despite the new layers of cloth, she shivers uncontrolably, embracing herself in despair. Her feet feel like frozen, completly numb in the huge black boots, she stole from his feet.

After a few minutes, walking past dark houses and wet cars, suddenly, she covers her mouth in realization, her eyes widening in shock and fear.

„Merde! Where am I going to sleep?!“ she asks herself, not really awaiting an answer, and looks around the dark streets, searching for something she clearly can‘t see, because of the dull darkness and the heavy drops on her lashes.

If she won‘t figure something out quickly, she might as well sleep right here, on this exact spot on the sidewalk, in the inviting puddle of dirty water.

„Okay, think Marinette. You are in a city, you don‘t know, where should you go?“ she glances around despairingly, hoping to catch any brilliant idea onto where to stay during her unexpected vacation.

Out of instict, she reaches for her thigh, where her bag would be, and notices something in the coat‘s front pockets when doing so.

„Zut!“ she gasps when she pulls a wad of notes among with a MP3 player out of it.

Closing her eyes and breathing out through her nostrills, she groans.

She unintentionaly became the robber now.

How ironic, just hilarious. Tikki‘s luck officially just quitted her.

Then she burrows her stolen goods back into the coat. Probably destiny is just joking with her, she is too exhausted to blame someone properly anyway.

Maybe it‘s better like this (it’s the lack of sleep, she swears), she will need to find a place to get some food, she hasn‘t eaten for five hours and she has no trust in getting fed for free no matter how pitiful she may appear.

Please, she’s just realistic.

As if by command, her stomach growls loudly, seemingly agreeing to her selfish thoughts.

She continues her path in silence, glancing around for anything like a bar or restaurant to satisfy her hunger. Preferably a bar, her appearance isn‘t exactly too unsuspicious for a restaurant.

When the wind blows her wet streaks into her eyes, she hides her face a bit more under the hat and purses her lips, thinking. „If I‘d be a bar, where would I be?“

All of sudden, she sees a group of teenagers, moving over the street. They laugh happily, joking loudly as they walk inside a building.

Steping closer as well, she lifts her head and reads the sign « City Lounge », flashing in blue neon lights. Steady beats sound out from inside, and she hears people talking muffled. She enters too, tightening her coat around her shoulders.

It makes her feel oddly calm, the normalcy of the people’s talking, the slightly stuffy air, because of the warm air and a mass of people inside one room, the divine smell of wood and the strong scent of alcohol, filling her nostrills.

The room is furnished in reddish colours and dirty light adds the last comfy touch, not too much people gather around the small counter and she registers a billiard table in one corner. The group, she just saw, sits on a red couch across the room.

When she comes walking inside, the noises stop abruptly, no talking, no music, it feels like everyone is staring at her, shoving the protecting layers of black by side.

However, sad it is, she is already used to getting stared at.

(Yes, being a Superhero in a flashing red suit, is pretty attention-catching.

It’s still incredibly annoying how the reporters chase her, despite the normalcy of her doing, she is Ladybug for more than just two years now.)

She stomps over to the bar, keeping her face in the shadows, and hopes they get her sign, she wishes no attention or conflict, she just fucking finally wants to shove something down her throat. Sitting down on a chair, she rummages in her pocket and takes out a few dollar notes.

„Water, please.“ she shoves the money to the frowning barman, making a crackling noise with it. It‘s completely silent in the bar, she can even hear the teenagers a few meters away from her, breathing whispers.

The barman slams his palm over the notes loudly, leaning closer to her face, his acid-smelling breath grazes over her nose. She holds her air inside to keep herself from throwing up or punching his face.

What is it with this city and their bad mouth odor?

„You are not from here, little lady.“ he says, his voice resounding in the silence.

She answer nothing, only waits for him to bring her water. Her apetite is long gone, she feels like puking, her throat is swollen, begging for the cool liquid.

She has a very bad sentiment about this city, they are almost as careful as Paris‘ civilians. It clearly means no good, because these people are afraid.

Of her.

A teenager. Meaning what happened to her, isn‘t unusual at all here.

Just where exactly is she?

She could just ask him, but she feels like he isn’t someone to chat friendly, at least with how his eyes try to stare her down she thinks that can be concluded.

Yeah, no friendly tips then.

When she doesn‘t seem to give any answer or explanation, he turns away, taking a cup and fills it with water from the rusted tap, next to the bottles of honey-coloured scotch.

The liquid in her cup looks slightly dirty, but she won‘t voice any protest, she can see the provocation meters away. He’s obviously trying to make her uncomfortable.

It tells millions of words about the bad situation in this city. She is just a sixteen-year-old girl in wet clothes, but despite this, he is incredibly scared as if she might as well implode in his bar.

Okay, maybe she isn’t too honest, she can defend herself and has a gun in her pocket, but outherwards nothing indicates to her being a threat. Heck, she look pretty the contrary to scary or dangerous with her darn short height and cutely freckled with a galaxy of dots face (FEEL THE IRONY).

She simply looks up, meeting his non-trusting eyes in determination. His pupils widen when he sees her face fully for the first time, while she looks for something, tries and fails to understand the abnormal fear.

His stare is ice-cold.

Chuckling at his obvious dislike, she accepts the ordered drink and drinks it at once. Slamming the cup back to the counter, she smirks.

It seems as if the connection between him and the strangers could be used against him badly, his recept to avoid it?

Refuse every unknown human, no matter their age, gender, height or strength. Not caring about listening to their background, problems, intentions, he just hates everyone without any exceptions.

How utterly and ridiculously weak.

„What makes you think that?“ the bluenette speaks, pushing the empty cup away from her hands.

When he turns his eyes to her again, his gaze is hard and determined, nearly filled with hatred for the unknown visitor.

„You aren‘t afraid. Tourists never are. That‘s why they die first.“ Clenching his teeth, he leans closer to her, wanting to force her to back away with his nasty breath.

Only she blinks and hums instead, refusing to show any weakness despite the disgusting smell. (Yuck)

So her suspicions are proved, it‘s a dangerous place.

Scoffing, she reconsiders her way of thoughts.

Of course it would be, her life can‘t be any other way. Throwing her into new problems and dangers every fucking minute, it challenges her day after day so she sighs softly. „Where am I?“

„In Hell.“ he whispers, his voice sounding dangerously calm.

She smirks playfully. „If this is hell, where is heaven then?“

His frown deepens in surprise and she hears people moving closer to her from behind, probably the previous teenagers.

„You heard him! Fuck off! You aren‘t welcome!“

She turns her head to the new voice.

A boy, about the age of nineteen, stands there, an attention-seeking girl hanging on his arm. He has a big nose.

Yeah. That‘s all, she can say about him, it‘s really abnormally huge.

The barstool creaks as she folds one leg over the other. „I‘m sorry, but are you his lawyer? I can‘t quite recall him saying he wants me to leave.“

Said barman slams his palm to the table, the big nose flinches. „Martin, hole up already, she‘s nothing I can‘t handle!“

Martin nods, turning away after throwing her one last acid glare, his attachment of girl does the same.

The man spins his eyes to her again, when she casually leans onto the counter and almost facepalmes into it on accident. She quickly coughs to cover the show of clumsiness. „So where were we? Ah, yes, now I remember, you were about to tell me what place I am.“ she says.

He grunts. „Your wicked tongue will be the reason you‘ll die.“

Clicking her tongue, she raises a brow. „Cool, great, since we cleared that, care to enlighten me now?“

„The darkness of this city will eat you whole, little lady, you‘ll see.“

Jeez they are even more paranoid than parisian mothers, she herself speaks from experience. Being late for literaly only five minutes and they‘ll call the Mayor, claiming to send helicopters to find your kidnapper.

Okay, maybe that’s just her crazily over-protective mother, but all in all, solely because of the daily Akumas, everyone is affected, hurt by them their own way.

Only this is a different level of affected, they cling to the normalcy and comfort zone like crazy.

It’s strange to her sleep-deprived mind, in Paris, they stick together and help strangers, since all of them have the same goal. The Akumas are feared by everyone, the hatred somehow forcing them to form a unity, for the same, to stop Hawkmoth.

The fact that he refuses to help her properly, indicates that they have no big vision, their system works in tiny splinters of resistance. Based on distrust, they survived a lot to make them so sealed off.

It‘s so sad to find out that next to Paris, other places suffer even more and can‘t even seem to find any solutions.

„How come you still live here then if you hate it so much to call it hell?“ she asks logically thinking.

The man blinks. „I, uh-“

„You could easily move somewhere else, there is a whole world to decide on.“

He frowns. „I have an honor. And who are you to judge me anyway? Get lost!“

She laughs and stands up, adjusting her hat as a goodbye, careful to not reveal her facial expression while doing so.

She can’t stop smiling at the irony.

It’s just too funny how much they distrust her, not knowing how justified it acutualy is. They save their tails from the disaster, called Marinette Dupain-Cheng or better said the troubles, following right on her footsteps.

They glare at her in hate, as she walks past them, to the door, not suspecting a second for her to understand them. But she feels only sympathy towards them, she would throw herself out too without a second reconsidering.

„I‘ll take it as granted then.“ she says.

When the cold air hits her face again, she stills. She’ll need a new plan, since guessing by the barman‘s reaction and claim, she won‘t have any luck at other places too.

She could try to break into someones house, but honestly she is too tired for this shit. Also she has no intention on being any more criminal than she already is.

At least her time wasn‘t spend for nothing, she feels a bit warmer now. Still every breeze makes her shiver, and she is hundred per cently sure, on her nose started developing an icicle of snot, but still it‘s better than before.

She starts walking down the street, it‘s now pitch-dark in the places without any lantern near, and she fears tripping on something again. Thank you very much, one bleeding and paining hand is enough for today.

By instinct, she turns right and stops when she sees a bench. Nothing fancy, but she isn‘t choosy right now, heck she would even sleep on plain grass if necessary. She has no preferences for her sleep, main point being closing her eyes for the rest of the night, hopefully unbothered by someone.

Her muscles slump in relief, the moment she sits down. She didn‘t feel her hurt muscles till now and she almost regrets even moving into a sitting position, when her feet pulse in pain. No idea, what time it is, but she’s got a feeling, there aren‘t too many hours until the sunrise.

Three at most, four if she‘s lucky. (Considering the circumstances, presumedly she‘s not.)

Groaning, she leans back, connecting her shoulders to the wooden plate.

„Goodnight, Tikki. Sleep well.“ she whispers into the air, gazing at the heavy clouds above her. At least, it stopped raining by now, she couldn’t imagine trying to doze off when cold drops would constantly hit her face.

She puckers her lips as if kissing her Kwami goodnight, hoping Tikki has it better in Paris.

Of course only, if the god wasn’t forced back inside the Miraculous after her being so far from it. They never tried how far it works for her depart with the magical earrings being put off before Tikki would disappear. Somehow they never had to know then.

Folding her hands over her chest, she closes her eyes, the urge too sleep in immediatly compelling, her eyelids feel like holding the whole world and more on them.

She hopes for whatever human might pass her at night, will be smart enough to let her be, since she can be really unforgiving and salty when sleeping less than at least five hours and being woken up.

Nobody would want to meet her in this state of sleep-starved anger, she would unconsciously make sure of that.

Wiggling a bit on the oh so comfortable wood, she sighs.

Tomorrow she will find out where she is. How she got here. If Paris is fine.

The darkness lulls her down to sleep, the distant sounds of cars driving over wet pavement, calming her down with it’s familiarity.

She will figure something out. She simply has to.  
______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first ever published work.
> 
> English is not my native language.
> 
> Will you notice any pesky mistakes in grammar or language in all, please record them to the author and they will be immediately brought to court to serve their sentence of hard and ruthless punishment.
> 
> But all in all, have a good day!


	2. Don‘t feed Dogs to Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She purses her lips, standing up again. „Okay, Mari. What did Chat always say? I‘m always knowing what to do? I always have a plan?“ 
> 
> Pacing back and forth, her coat behind her, she mutters. „Do I?“
> 
> The black cat meows. 
> 
> She looks down at it. „I do, don‘t I?“

~  
Mornings are torture, Marinette is sure of that. She is pretty used to waking up horribly, to the loud, ringing sound of her alarm, Tikki hitting her cheek to convince her to leave her bed. 

She even once woke up, falling out of her bed. Just for record, she has a loft bunk, so yes, it wasn’t the best of her days.

But being woken by something warm, wet and sticky, isn‘t on her list yet.

„Miss? Are you alright?“ Marinette pops her eyes open, closing them again when blinded by the brightness of the sun. It‘s already morning, and the light burns into her skin both pleasant and painful, for her eyes. 

Fuck, who could have thought that sun can hurt so much.

She raises up a bit to a sitting position, rubbing her overwhelmed eyelids. 

Holding her hat in place, she straightens her back and gazes at the person waking her up.

The woman has blond hair in a ponytail and wears sportive clothes, probably she was jogging until she found her, knocked out by sleep, on an old bench. Her eyes shine in concern, leaning over the girl.

Dear Kwami, what a sad and needy picture she must be right now. Cursing and dirty, camping on a park bench in nothing than clothes too big on her hungry body.

„Oui, oui, must have slept in.“ she says, carefully avoiding any lie. 

Having to lie nearly everyday made her say as much truth as possible, she can‘t hate liars if she is willing to be one too. 

So she went out with a solution: half-truths. If she‘s telling only half-true things, she‘s never really lying. It saved her more than just once.

The woman‘s right hand holds a leather band and her left a water bottle. On second, glance the leather strangely reminds her of one leash.

Just as she finished the thought, a dog jumps at her and she yelps surprised, fliching away. The Breton Pointer, or also called Epagneul Breton in France, must somehow have misunderstood her gesture and sits onto her lap when she raises her hand in defenseless surrender. 

Hey, at least it means that not everyone is indifferent towards strangers, a tiny victory to her side. 

The brown-spotted dog with white fur, barks satisfied and licks over her hand, in affection. On his forehead is one very big spot and she feels strangely reminded of Tikki. 

And yes, it’s certainly peculiar for her to connect her best friend for years with a dog, she just met, in seconds.

The lack of sleep is to blame.

Harrumphing, she blinks at the blonde, the keeper of the licking beast, expectantly. 

The furball kisses her cheek with his tongue and she laughs, since it‘s so nasty, but affectionate, she never had to turn down a flirtacious dog before. Cats were more the ones in her case.

The jogger blinks surprised by her dog‘s behaviour, but then she narrows her eyes focusing on the task.

„Milo! Stop! I‘m so sorry, miss. He just likes you!“

Marinette curses behind a hand, trying to protect her face from his tongue. He is a flirt, a very spitty one, but she recognizes a charmer when meets him.

„Pas de problème, I like him too, he is very affectionate.“ she says, patting his head hesistantly.

„Are you french?“ the question startles her a bit, but she covers it with standing up, her admirer in hands and offering him to her.

„Oui. And I have a very strange and probably seeming to you, dumb, question-“ she avoids the woman’s eyes as best as possible. „You don‘t happen to know in what country I am?“ she cringes a bit in the end, hoping the woman is willing to tell her, despite the odd demand. 

She doesn‘t even want to imagine what she thinks of her right now, nothing good that‘s for sure. 

The blonde found her sleeping on a bench afterall, in men clothes, without any knowledge to where she is. Probably she thinks she‘s homeless as best, maybe even under drugs.

It feels uncomfortable to even ask, but she needs to know for her planning, if she will be too far from France then it‘ll take more effort to come back home.

As assumed (the situation is pretty rare), the blonde blinks in surprise, taking the dog from her embrace.

„That‘s indeed a bit strange, Miss, We are in America, Gotham City more exact.“

Amerikca, Gotham City, the name seems really familiar, maybe it’s one of those cities who always get mentionned in the news, but always right after the breaking phenomens so people always blend it out to chitchat about some celebrity‘s fifth baby. 

Nonetheless, she muffles her groan when realizes the troubles it‘ll bring her to return to Paris. There‘s a literal fucking ocean between them.

„Merci, also could you tell me where the next coffee shop is?“ she asks and tries a smile, but it feels too fake on her face, so she drops it quickly.

Without caffeine, she‘ll start a fight with a passant in no time, she gets really fast enraged without her daily cup, and she can‘t let that happen while trying to stay unnoticed by both police and journalists (Not that she‘d be interesting enough to be reported about, but her luck is a bitch).

„Yeah, down the street til you reach the library, then to the left.“ explains the woman to her relief, pointing to a sidewalk behind her. 

This time her smile is real. 

„Merci beaucoup! All luck in life for you two!“ she pats Milo and beams at the woman briefly, before running off to the showed direction. 

With the sunlight now, she notices sky-high buildings all around her, businessmen in smokings rushing from cars over the streets, chinese tourists chatting loudly about the weather, it makes her dizzy from happiness.

Maybe she wasn‘t prepared to go on vacation so suddenly, but she would lie if say she’s not enjoying it at least a bit. 

Her hair is still a bit wet and smells moldy, she’s sure her skin colour could rival any dry pidgeon poop on a car and she feels like she slept in the fold in between of two bus seats, but (not counting her physical and mental appearance) she’s fine, so she beams at nobody and everything. 

She made it through a lot more difficult adventures, she has no intention on killing her excited mood, when she is basically traveling on her own in a huge, unexplored City. Because DANG, when does one even get an opportunity like this?

Her boots clatter over the pavement, as she winds herself through the masses of people, their words combining to a steady noise. She passes the library, curiously gazing inside the doors for a moment. She will be definetly coming back to observe everything in peace again.

Everything looks so different than at night, every corner she felt as threatening before, is now a chance to see more, hear more, taste more.

She‘s thrilled to see when exactly Gotham plans on swallowing her. Mind you, she feels ready to take on the whole world right now with her three hours of sleep and lack of coffee. 

Stilling, she scents the delightful smell of roasted coffee beans in the air. Right to her left is a cafe, called « Brewed Awakening ». She grins half-amused (dare you, it‘s still a pun). 

How fitting.

The sensation leads her through the entry and she feels herself standing in a row, waiting to give her order.

In front of her stands a tall man with a large black Iroquois, his leather jacket has so many spikes, she is afraid of feeling them piece right through her chest, if someone decides to push her from behind. (Really not the death, she imagined for herself die)

Looking behind her back (not to check the potential murderer; she‘s not that paranoid), she registers a student, pouting at the book in her hands, probably trying to figure out her homework or something like that. 

Understandable. 

When she hears someone snickering, she spins to her right, frowning. A boy, around her age, elbows his friend, pointing at her with a grin.

Oh, yeah, oopsie.

She, for a moment, totally forgot about her outfit, she is convinced she looks like some sixteen-year-old fangirl, (read: detective cosplayer), with her big, old coat and hat. Reluctantly she admits, on contrary to nightly shadows, she is pretty noticeable at day.

„You wish?“

She turns back to the row, noticing the woman behind the counter, adressing her with a frown.

„A Capuccino, please.“ she puts on her best smile, shifting her hat up a bit. Growling internaly, she beams at the waitress.

The woman swipes her red hair back, nodding shortly and writes down her order into a note book. „Grande or Tall?“

„Grande.“ She clicks her tongue bored, looking around the room. Maybe she can sit on one of these couches in the corner, it would help her to focus on planning her next steps.

„Your name?“ The woman seems a tad annoyed when Marinette turns her head back to her again.

All of sudden, she tenses, her name. 

Should she be honest and say Marinette? Or is it too personal, she doesn‘t want to leave any proof of her, staying here, behind. Even if the chance of these people, she meets here, meeting her parents or friends in Paris is microscopic, it‘s still a risk, she can‘t take.

„Your Name.“

Okay, so Marinette‘s out. What if she makes out a name? Nothing indicating towards her, but still fitting. 

Or like a pseudonym or code name like in these ancient american spy movies. 

„What date is it?“ the girl in a coat asks, pursing her lips in panic. She needs inspiration to work something good out, if she will mastermind herself a name, it should at least be perfect.

Her red bun bounces when the woman growls loudly, leaning her head backwards.

„7th april“ she presses out between her teeth, clutching the piece of paper with her order tightly in her hand.

It may be obvious, but she is desperate and practical, so

„April, my name is April.“

The red-head raises a perfect brow, writing it down on a plastic cup. „five dollars“

This time, she reacts immediatly, giving her the money quickly.

„Next!“ the rousse snaps at the student behind her, to get her attention. The poor brunette flinches a bit, looking up from her book, frightened.

Marinette waits for her life-saving liquid in anticipation, while eyeing the visitors of the coffee shop.

Nobody is paying attention to her, so she takes the MP3 player from her pocket to play with it, while standing around.

Putting it on, she nods approvingly, he may be a jerk, but at least he has a satisfying taste of music, he isn‘t listening to atrocious songs.

Maybe a bit too old-school, but really not bad, he seems a bit more nice now, despite his mean behaviour.

„Capuccino Grande for April!“

She steps forward silently accepting her love of life, the capuccino warms her heart as soon as she touches it, literaly, since she presses the cup to her chest.

Deciding to indeed sit on the couch in the back of the room, she leans back on it. She closes her eyes in peace, pressing her head against the soft cushion, savouring its feeling. 

Screw the hard bench, this. is. HEAVEN. 

When focusing on its texture, she can nearly imagine lying in her pink bed, writing into her diary, it makes her nostalgic, blinking longing in thoughts of her home. 

Tears start burning in her eyes. She really prays it‘ll be still intact as soon as she returns, Akumas aren‘t exactly predictably constant, she has no idea if Paris is already stomped down to ashes or not.

After a few seconds of scolding herself for losing her calm that fast, she straightens in determination again.

„Okay, ideas, ideas.“ she mutters, biting her lower lip to focalise on the pain instead of her increasing breath.

So to repeat everything, She is currently America, City Gotham. Having a bit money, she could try to book a hotel chamber while her stay, but she hesitates doing this, she is sure food is more important than a warm bed for now. 

Also counting her notes, she sees only thirty left, seemingly, he went out without his savings, probably because he expected to steal hers, or better said, her non-existant ones.

Technicaly she could get money from others and buy a plane ticket, but A, her documents are at home and B, she still feels bad about robbing innocent people. She may have knocked out a man in an alley, but the circumstances forced her to, her well-being is necessary for her people behind the ocean. 

Knowing that she will have to conquer the natural force of water to get back, does not make her too optimistic about her chances, but there is no possibility for her to stay here, her feline partner needs her, he shouldn‘t be fighting alone. 

Speaking off, maybe in this same minute, Paris has NO ONE to protect them. Maybe Chat randomly woke up in America too. Maybe Paris is corrupted by Hawkmoth already and Chat is injured. So many possiblities, such a hell of non-existent answers.

Nipping on her capuccino, she cools down quietly. 

Like her grandmother loved to say, „Eyes onto the road or you’ll kill us“ (she horribly failed the driving lesson), she’ll focus onto the given facts and circumstances.

Alright, so.

Until evening she will not have to be concerned, but then she will either fight her way through the streets again, or she finds a place to stay. 

Quickly deciding to observe the city further to remember any important paths and short-cuts (who knows what‘ll be; this city is a catastrophy waiting to happen), she grabs her plastic cup, leaving the shop in determination.

Her face is hit with the strong scent of gas and wet stone, it almost seems familiar to her already after sleeping to it. She walks back the path, she sprinted to her destination, and stills when she notices the impressive building to her right, the Gotham City Library.

She ponders internally, while steping through the large entry. She may be a bit pressured in time, since Paris really needs Ladybug as soon as possible, but she has to be smart about it.

There is no way for her to be arrested or kidnapped, her responsibilty in Paris awaits her, so if she decides to steal, she should find out before where and who, to plan properly. It‘s the strategic in her.

She refuses to harm any civilians, who need the money as much as she does, she wouldn‘t forgive herself if doing so. Being Ladybug is more than just a name to her, it‘s a title, she works everyday to deserve it. 

In addition, they count on her, believe in her to save them, losing is simply no option. 

True is Hawkmoth can‘t really win right now, since the earrings are in her room with only Master Fu able to know about that, and she, in Gotham, but if he dares to harm anybody, she will come swimming over the atlantic ocean to beat him up herself.

She wanders through the rows of shelves with books, letting her eyes search over the backs of these. Architecture, Psychology, History, Biographies, every topic neatly stocked in a line, she admires and takes her hat off.

It‘s warm enough inside and she does not want to sweat any more, her hair is already looking and smelling horrible enough.

She lets her fingertips brush over the books, unsure of what to choose.

Surely she could just take anything and start with it, but she‘ll need to filtrate the information, she‘ll be reading. Only the most important things, her time is limited.

Probably she should start with something simple, a quick overview of Gotham City, to get a light and simple taste of where she is and what she‘ll be dealing with.

Finding a local newspaper in a rack, she sits down in a chair and starts reading.

Apparently there is a certain Hero, called Batman, who stopped a certain Villain, The Joker.

Then she notices a picture of a man, he holds a wine glass. A raised brow, black hair and direct sapphire-blue eyes stare back at her.

Bruce Wayne, Billionnaire, CEO of Wayne Industries, Father, Star Investor, Celebrity of the Year. (Yes, that‘s the caption, I swear the same words; try to praise less, bootlickers)

He had a huge Gala yesterday, celebrating the opening of his collection of expensive paintings and statues. Pieces of great Art and artists, presumedly the man is trying to seem interested in it, but guessing by the obvious non-indepent choices, it‘s more failing than convincing.

The pictures have neither a connection to each other, nor they could be interpreted as something together, it‘s directly choosen as abstract to let anybody see something else and satisfy his guests.

She puffs out her cheeks in partly boredom and partly tiredness.

Also there is an article of a certain Charlotte Moreille, an actress who bought one more diamont necklace to her collection of these. It‘s overly dramatically named as the „Red Phoenix“.

The paper crinkles as she carefully closes the newspaper.

Celebrities, Superheroes and Villains, everything just like in Paris, only Gotham seems to have certainly more of every type.

Now the barman‘s words sound a lot more logical to her, they have a heck lot of craziness and evil in this city, and that without any magic influence.

Where Hawkmoth influences civilians into working for evil and hurt others, in Gotham, it‘s their own decision to rob or kill. No Akumas or Cures to evilize and then bring everything back to normal, here there is no plain explanation to why people are bad, there just simply are. They lose against the insaneness because of the others who lost too.

It‘s a vicious circle of pain and hurt.

That’s why the people here don’t work together, they just don’t have the same enemies, everybody struggles on his own, with his own problems, both physically and psychologically.

She stands up from her chair, taking the newspaper with her and walks over to an unused and dusty computer.

Sitting down behind it, she starts typing, searching for literally anything coming to mind.

The Names and Abilities of Heroes and Villains, the History of Gotham and its tourist attractions, the biography of certain Celebrities, like Bruce Wayne and his sons, (who, by the way, are pretty difficult to find out about), hell she even looked after the weather for today and found out how much a flight over the ocean, to Paris costs, despite her not having any documents with her.

After a few hours of staring at the screen, she slumps back satisfied, with tired, heavy eyes. She feels better now, more prepared, less anxious.

There is still a lot, she‘d like to know and find out, but she has to keep in her time schedule, she already spend too much time in here.

Knowledge is power, every information, no matter how tiny it seems, is valuable to her. Her life and the ones in Paris could depend on that little detail, she knows better than to underestimate the strength of knowledge.

There have been dozens of times, it took only one tiny realization for her to defeat an Akuma, one teensy piece of puzzle to win.

Yawning, she stretches her hands upwards, feeling the satisfying sound of her spine crack. 

„Found out what you wanted to?“

She looks up when suddenly being adressed.

A man, with long, wavy brown hair in a high bun and a few streaks of grey, stares at her, his head leaned to one side in question. He has intense eyes, the ones which seem to have seen a lot, survived history and took wisdom from it.

She puts her hat on again, suddenly feeling strangely exposed and naked under his stare.

„Yes.“ she mutters, avoiding his eyes.

He chuckles. „You are clearly lying, never ending curiosity is as paining as it‘s admirable.“

One click and the screen goes off. „True.“ 

He puts the book aside he held in his hands previously reading. Physics, her lovely and favourite subject in school. 

Noticing her look, he smiles. „It‘s not that difficult, most people just won‘t seem to comprehend that it‘s all based on imagination.“

She hums, standing up, the chair creeking over the wooden floor as she pushes it backwards. „Well, it seems like I‘m one of these then.“

His smiles widens, more teeth. „I‘m sure one day you‘ll overcome that.“

She taps on her hat as a goodbye. „I‘m really waiting for it.“ she says, shooting him a little lift of one corner of her mouth herself.

Then she walks away, not looking back, through the impressive doors to the outside world again. Colder air hits her nose and she glances up.

The sun may be hidden behind clouds, but it‘s definetely darker than before, maybe three hours passed, maybe it had been only fourty minutes, she completely lost track on time, researching in the internet.

She starts walking again, feeling more confident now, strengthened by what she found out.

Technically she mostly just read about the local Heroes and Supervillains while being in the Library. A whole bunch of Bat-themed ones and a few different „Robin’s“, like seriously they couldn’t find themselves a new costume or what?

However the Villains are more unique in their styles. For example, the Joker, he is pretty feared for his craziness and insane laughter while killing people, his brutality is high up to a point being unhealthy. 

Yes, he’s certainly one prime example of a person who gave up to the urge of the Dark City.

But despite his reputation, she was shocked to find out about his looks. Yuck! Who taught him bright green and violet would be a succesfull combination anyway?

However not minding their ridiculous costumes, the majority of these either are belonging into a lunatic asylum or had been scientists who got a dose of their own science, like Poison Ivy or Scarecrow.

All in all, Gotham is more like the contrary to peaceful. 

Okay, that‘s highly underexaggerated, heck the city could eat her whole without even chewing and swallowing, but only the fact that she knows it now, calms her.

When said city will try to absorb her, she‘ll be prepared and fight with everything she has.

She winds herself through a group of childrens, coming out of the building, she went for, chatting loudly about nothing and everything and the teacher scolding them just as loud.

There it is, the Wayne Tower. 

Center of the Wayne Enterprises, Main Building of the CEO Bruce Wayne himself.

A huge appearance of black windows and dominance.

(A bird flies by and relieves on top of it.)

She grimaces, being flushly pressed against someone (Hello? Private sphere?), just like expected the black building is the center of attention of tourists and journalists.

The large glass doors open for her to step inside and so she does. The air is nothing warmer, she notices, despite the masses of people admiring the interior, it’s still fresh and chilly. 

Also she is quick to realize one thing, the glass of said doors is thicker than it seems, after coming inside, the sounds of cars and their horns disappeared, only the chatter is still audible.

A tall woman in a blue pant suit, standing at the entry, glances her up and down, and then puts on a forced smile.

„Can I help you?“ she beams at the girl, folding her perfectly manicured hands in front of her.

Marinette blinks. „Not really I’m just looking. However..“ she frowns, sweeping some sticky hair from her sticky forehead. „Why is the glass so thick?“

The woman blinks, more white teeth. „I can assure you that everything was designed how Mister Wayne wanted.“

She hums, throwing a quick glance back at it. „Is it bulletproof?“

Her radiant smile slips for the shortest of seconds. „I‘m not allowed to answer that. It‘s secret information.“

She purses her lips, surpressing a grin after guessing right. 

Tender spot, huh? 

„Thank you anyway, it‘s certainly beautiful here.“ the woman nods shortly as Marinette turns away to the glass doors again.

Bruce Wayne had been targeted by some criminals too then, just like expected.

It would have been truly surprising to her if he wouldn’t have, Celebrities tend to have a lot of money, presumedly he isn’t the only one to get robbed too.

Deciding to observe the streets further, she now chooses a new path across the busy street. Cars, mostly black ones (Black much, literally everywhere), try to find a spot to squeeze through, motorcycles failing to outrun them, since they’re smaller and so convinced to fit through quicker, what turned out to be miscalculated. 

Angry yelling and frustrated sounds of horns, the traffic is just as horrible as in Paris.

As she wanders around, she notices the buildings become more pressed together and lower than the skyscrapers in the center of the city. Instead of clear windows, now they hide what‘s behind them, curtains in a variety of different colours, shielding the private spaces.

The street turns long and slim, seeming to be never-ending in the horizon. 

She passes a car and sharply goes to the right, following some inner compass of hers.

A large tree, beside it a bench with mothers, chatting as their children play in a sand pit in front of them. She sits down next to them, pulling out the MP3 player, and puts the earphones inside her ears, but does not start the music. 

She wants to be listening what they‘ll be talking about. What normal people in Gotham chat about. 

Details, details. 

You‘d be surprised what people talk about when think you‘re not listening.

Feeling their confused stares on her, she hums to an imaginary tune, closing her eyes in peace.

„Who is that?“ someone whispers, she keeps her lids closed.

„I don‘t know her, maybe she‘s a tourist.“ the voice is daring to speak louder now, since Marinette shows no sign of hearing them.

„Some might think that the dangers would keep them away, but of course the youth is even more interested in the rush of adrenaline than their health.“

One gasps out shocked. „Please, Angie. Prejudices!“

„What! It‘s true!“

„However, both of you, how are your kids?“

„Oh, fine, fine, Madison will be leaving to Washington soon. Says she hates it here, the villains, constant fear.“ chirps one.

„Couldn‘t recover after the toxin attack in class?“

„No, she‘s still just as anxious as before. The Doctor said she should be keeping a distance, so it should be better for her panic attacks to visit my sister in Washington.“

„Poor girl, anyway my boy met Batman a week ago, was so agitated couldn‘t sleep in for weeks.“

A sneering laugh. „Hah! My Marcus shook his hand at the age of three, now he‘s called Bat in his judo group, he has the BLACK belt and won the gold trophy!“

Marinette stays like that til it started turning darker, sitting unmovingly, listening to their talk. True, it‘s rather semi-interesting to find out since when the good Marcus goes to the toilet now or why dear Madison hates broccoli, but it‘s all about the principe.

Even just knowing how deep their prejudice and fear goes, is usefull information. 

...Right?

Now she wanders through the streets again, trying to memorize the turns and shortcuts, since Gotham offers an incredibly lot of these.

Still being illuminated by the sun, through a cloud of course, she quickly found out that plain sunshine is nothing common here, she lets herself stray through the masses of tourists and business men, careful to avoid any physical contact.

After already getting a few strange looks for her outfit, she mostly ignores them now and focuses on a police car in a parking spot. The officers, standing leaned against the vehicle, seem to be rather relaxed, sipping on coffee and (never she thought the cliché/rumor would turn out to be true) eating sugar-coated and brightly glazed donuts. Their eyes stray over the streets sometimes, but mostly they‘re focused on the sugary treats in their hands.

Presumedly because the local Heroes do the major part of work against the criminals here, not too different to Paris.

However she‘s slighty surprised with having seen none of these so supposed Heroes once during her nightly, polite conversation yesterday.

Without even intending on doing so, she suddenly stands in front of the Gotham Library again. Pushing the door open, she slips inside, relaxing when the slightly dusty and warm air embraces her invitingly.

She takes her spot behind the old computer again, surprised to notice the man with a brown bun still sitting across from her, fortunately too focused on reading than minding her.

Turning the screen on, she leans forward. She already found out where she is, what she‘ll be dealing with while her unexpected stay.

She still has one more urging question to answer. How did she get here first.

Her first guess is an Akuma, and for that she’ll check on the Ladyblog for the latest attack and it’s powers.

When the browser loaded enough, the side appears on the screen in the familiar red, black and white.

She clicks through to the latest reports, a video, posted only four hours ago, is highly viewn. It‘s called „Divider“.

Alya appears in the frame, looking restless and agitated. The background is some hotel chamber, darkened with a closed curtain.

„Hey, it’s me, Alya Césaire, Ladyblogger, alive in flesh and blood. I know it has been a while since I posted last, but I think all of you can guess why.“

The brunette smiles weakly, Marinette now notices her glasses being a different model than always. „I‘m currently in England.“

She immediately pauses the video. 

That can‘t be a coincidence. She, waking up in America and Alya suddenly filming in England, seeming tired.

A shaky breath through her nosedrills and she clicks onto the picture of her best friend.

„Probably a lot of you had the same problems I had. Waking up somewhere you don‘t know, in pyjamas. Well somehow I had been able to contact my boyfriend who, thank god, is still in Paris and he managed to contact Chat Noir, who hadn’t left Paris too. Ladybug didn‘t appear til now. Yet. There is still a chance she‘s in Paris too.“

Alya sighs, puts off her glasses to pinch her nose. „However, what I wanted to say is, Chat and a few other Heroes defeated Divider. The Akuma causing for us to be teleported to different countries, has no power anymore, but with Ladybug MIA.. Let‘s just say, we can‘t be returned until the Akuma will be de-evilized.“

Her best friend rubs her glasses against the fabric of her t-shirt and then puts them on again, her glare suddenly direct and determined. Just like the fierce Alya, the one, Marinette got so good to know.

„Ladybug whereever you currently are, please come back to Paris. I might have had luck, I was teleported with my cell phone in hands, but some might have not. Maybe there is someone in Afrika, sitting between a lion and an elephant, starving.“

Alya folds her hands in front of her, frowning. „To everybody who sees this, if you‘re one of the people being affected by Divider‘s powers and got teleported away, don‘t lose hope.“

Her caramel face scrunches up in sheer force of emotions, her shoulders tensing. „Find help, if you have any family close, ask them. Fight. It will be hard, but we’re Parisian, for goddamns sake! There‘s nothing able to bear us down!“ There is a bright fire in her eyes as she says that, a strength only Alya was ever able to give out to the world. 

„Our Ladybug will come save us, like always and till that happens, save yourself as best as you can. Thank you for listening. This was Alya Césaire from Cambridge, kisses and good luck.“

The video ends.

Marinette slumps back, her body all of sudden feeling heavier than ever before in her life. The feeling of pure shame and severe chagrin taking over her thoughts, she closes her eyes, revelling in her emotions in silence.

„Miss, are you feeling alright?“

Her gaze reluctantly lifts to the man, reading books about physics in a library. He seems worried.

She closes her eyes again, not wanting see it. 

„Did you ever know how small we actually are?“ he suddenly starts.

Deciding to ignore him, she keeps her eyes closed.

„Compared to the earth or other planets in our galaxy, next to the milky way, on contrary to the whole, maybe endless universe, we are tiny, minor, just a mixture of organic elements, which by sheer accident, enables us to be alive.“

She frowns. 

He goes on. „No matter how radical or big our problems or worries might seem to us, in the end, all of us, are just playing a small part in the long history of the universe. We have no power over how the earth circulates around the sun, or can‘t change the constellation of planets to one, we might like more.“

One eyelid pops open, she presses her lips together in surpressed anger. „What are you trying to tell me with that? To stop fighting then?!“

His bun jumps as he shakes his head. „No, don‘t ever stop fighting. Just that if you might fail someday, the universe won‘t notice, life will go on.“

She laughs out incredulously. 

If Ladybug would lose, then Hawkmoth could destroy the whole universe if he wanted to. With a single snap of fingers, the history of our glorious galaxy forever erased.

He leans his head to one side again, trying to figure her out, she closes the browser on the screen meanwhile.

„You have a light accent, really not persistent, but there.“ he notices.

She flinches internally, adjusting her hat. „Maybe.“

„So you had the opportunity to get a taste of Gotham.“ It‘s obviously more a statement than a question so she stays silent.

A smile slowly spreads on his facial features. „Why are you still here?“ he asks.

Her boots sweep over the floor. „As in Gotham?“ she answers.

His smile turns amused, millions of crinkles of laughter around his eyes. „No, as in here, next to a man, who annoys you, and whose opinion you clearly disagree with.“

She raises a brow, challenging. „You want me to leave?“

„No, and you know that‘s not what I meant.“

„Maybe I‘m just bored.“

More teeth. „And it‘s better to deal with someone disturbing than with your boredom and thoughts?“

She rolls her eyes. „You can answer that since you‘re not only blessed with understanding physics, but seem to be a psychological genuis too.“ she says.

He slightly shrugs. „I‘m just attentive.“

Standing up, she puts on a sickingly sweet smile. „Go on and be attentive with someone else then, I‘m running late already.“

His smile only widens. „Then I won‘t be holding you here anymore, greet your Alya Blogger from me.“

With tensed shoulders, she goes on walking away to the streets again, the second time today.

The moment, she hears the cars again, she is shocked to notice how dark is has already become.

Feeling a sudden pain in her stomach, she runs over to a bakery and buys a sandwich to satisfy her hunger for now.

Eating it, she observes the city again. Lights of cars and windows are brighter now in the dark, people seem to be slowing down, but still keen on reaching their home, it seems as if everyone is feeling the cover of sleep lay on top of them.

For the first time in today, she stops. 

Stops walking, stops to simply stand there and watch the city. 

Not to gain herself an advantage in fight, not to figure out the people here, but simply to let herself be.

For a minute she allows herself to, not minding the people pushing her by side to get through.

And then forces herself to continue.

She wanders again, noticing the flood of people rapidly decreasing. She may have a problem for now. Since she has no idea of where to stay to sleep, she will be forced to visit her lovely bench again.

Just as she is about to follow the way back to her improvised bed, she hears it.

No idea how, but she can hear it. The soft noise of someone meowing. 

The sound is strangely bringing back memories of her feline Partner, his cat puns, his flirty attitude, just a cat was all it took to make her miss him and his terrible jokes. 

She feels the urge to follow the noise to its source.

It’s confusing to why a simple noise can bring such strong emotions up in her, it‘s just a cat meowing. A single mew shouldn‘t mean so much to her, but it does and she wants to find its creator as fast as possible. 

She hurries.

Then she hears it again, but now that she is closer, she can hear it more clear. The cat sounds.. sad, troubled, maybe even pained.

She runs, the stolen boots fly over the stone. 

Later she would claim, she had been imagining a hell lot of scenarios of what happened to the cat, or had been thinking about a way to help it, but in reality, she just acted on instinct. 

For a short moment, it felt like her Ladybug suit enveloped her again and she jumped into fight like in Paris, ready to pounce on whatever person, Hawkmoth akumatized again.

And when she finally sees the cat, she indeed feels ready to kill. 

Two persons, one man and a woman, standing next to it. The man is holding something, presumedly a pistol, pointing with it at the cat, which sits on the stone, meowing defencelessly.

The woman covers her eyes to ...not see the incoming shot.

Fucking City and its crazy People.

She speeds up and throws herself against the back of the man as soon as close enough, in determined action to prevent him from hurting the poor creature.

He yelps out in surprise, and probably pain, when he connects head-first to the stone, her being on top of him, but she ignores it. He was about to hurt a defenceless kitten, for goddamn’s sake!

The woman screams out and backs away, accidently kicking a Hot Dog with her shoe. 

„Michael! I told you to leave it be, but no, of course you wouldn‘t listen and now you enraged its holder!“ 

She spins to Marinette who sits on the man‘s back, staring up at her in confusion, and holds out a hand for her to take.

„We are greatly sorry for bothering your cat, Miss. My bother is just stupid, it was a joke to him, he wouldn‘t have actually fed her.“ she explains, helping her up and throwing a warning glare at the man.

Said Michael picks himself up from the pavement, groaning and clutching his forehead after it kissing the dirt.

„I think I learned my lesson, no feeding of people‘s cats.“

His sister raises a brow, and he sighs. „Especially not Hot Dogs, it‘s bad and unhealthy for them.“ he mocks, imitiating the voice of his female friend, and points to the dirty lunch on the ground.

The woman stomps with her heel. „You‘re incorrigible!“ 

He moves next to her right, holding his hand over his hair. „My head hurts.“ he says.

„Thanks to your own stupidness!“ she answers.

„I couldn‘t have known she watched me from behind!“

She clutches her head in frustration. „I warned you!“

Michael pouts, careful to avoid looking at Marinette. „Then warn me more convincing next time!“

„What‘s more convincing than „stop, dumbass, you‘ll regret it later“?“

They walk away, arguing loudly as Marinette stares after them in disbelief. 

Great, she was ready to hurt an innocent civilian because of the prejudices, she collected after only one night being here. 

Where’s Ladybug‘s infamous heroism again?

A mew shakes her out of her thoughts.

The reason for her, jumping at a man, licks its paw, it has shining black fur and sparkling green eyes with a hint of mischief. Yes, it‘s indeed reminding her of her Chat. Or Plagg. Maybe even both.

She can‘t keep her face from breaking out into a grin. „Bonjour, Chat. You made me do quite an impressive stunt, non?“

Walking around her feet and rubbing against her ankles, the cat encircles her.

„Apology accepted.“ she says and bows down to pat the black furball to her boots, noticing no collar on him. He could be a stray, but for that he‘s too clean and wellbehaved.

Marinette ruffles the cat‘s fur, thinking. 

She lost time, not too much, but still, the time she could have spended planning her return, she had been attacking a guileless man. 

Okay true, he tried feeding a CAT with an HOT DOG, but that‘s more speaking for his stupidity than his evil intentions. 

She purses her lips, standing up again. „Okay, Mari. What did Chat always say? I‘m always knowing what to do? I always have a plan?“ 

Pacing back and forth, her coat behind her, she mutters. „Do I?“

The black cat meows. 

She looks down at it. „I do, don‘t I?“

Chat rubs his head against her shoe affectionately. 

„Whatever I would be deciding to do, it always leads for me to be needing money. Airplane, true I have no documents, but maybe I could find someone to fake some for me. If I go by boat, I need money again... or I would hide on board and probably get myself arrested.“

He paws the end of her coat.

„Hypothetically I could just go and tell people about my problem, but for that I‘ll be risking my identity since..“ she frowns, considering another potential timeline. „Wait. I‘m not risking anything. I could just try to find help and casually fly over the ocean. Or.. nobody would believe or help me since this place is crazy and tricked.“ she sighs.

„Technically I could just try to contact Alya or my parents, tell them my place of stay and..“ she deflates, her shoulders slump. „Well Alya‘s still in England and I don‘t know if my parents are in Paris, or if they got hurt while Ladybug‘s gone....“

She stills again, but this time it‘s in determination. „I need to call Master Fu first, they need to take the earrings and choose another Ladybug while I‘m unattainable! Paris comes first, Then comes my safety.“

The cat meows again, she turns her attention to him.

„Oui, je sais que je suis une mauvaise superheroine. I mean who goes to sleep without their Miraculous on?“ 

Chat starts walking away from her, his hips swinging gracefully. Then he glances back at her.

She blinks perplexed, then laughs. „If I wouldn‘t know any better I‘d think that you are trying to show me something.“

The animal goes on walking and then stops again to look at Marinette.

Puffing out her cheeks, she complies, following him. „I swear if you won‘t lead me to a boat to Paris, which will take me without any documents and only twenty bucks in pocket..“

They walk, the cat taking the lead and Marinette following on its tiny footsteps. It turns darker, and colder, the same breezes annoying her yesterday start coming back, but on contrary to yesterday, at least now she‘s dry enough to not shiver every time, the air brushes past her legs.

Windows closed with brown curtains, lanterns illuminating the streets again, the night is all  
so obvious and persistent in Gotham.

She adjusts her hat, admiring the feeling of its firm fabric. „You know, actually I‘m kind of starting to get used to these clothes, true I look ridiculous, they aren‘t even my size, but it‘s warm, shields me, and I feel confident. Once I‘m back in Paris, I‘ll design something familiar to this.“ 

Chat throws her an unimpressed glance over his back and goes on moving gracefully.

She purses her lips, forcing her legs to move despite them feeling like they‘re going to fall off of her hips when she does one more step.

„Okay, so tomorrow, I‘ll find a cell phone and call Master, his number should be somewhere in the internet, at least, I hope his massage shop has an homepage, then I‘ll call my parents and let them know I‘m alive and alright and find out if they are too.“

They pass a blue car in a parking spot, she bites down her lip.

„I really hope Chat and his „Team of new Heroes“ will manage without me, Hawkmoth will be most likely trying to use Ladybug‘s absence to his advantage and akumatize more people than ever before.“

Suddenly the cat stops, she does too, looking around curiously. She sees nothing important or interesting, just houses and the lonely street, like before.

So she frowns at him. „That‘s what why you led me here? Houses and streets? I‘m sorry, but somehow I expected more.“

Chat turns to a slim alley and jumps on top of a trash can. Then he does another jump and lands on the, suituated above of it, fire escape ladder in a fluid motion.

She watches all of it in jealousy. Yes, being a cat is definetely easier to hande than being a human, especially a teenage Superhero. 

Sighing she steps closer, it seems like she won‘t be able to visit Gotham without turning at least a bit criminal too. 

„Des choses, je fais en détresse.“ she mumbles, preparing her hurting muscles.

Climbing on top of the trash can, she grabs the ladder above her head and slowly pulls herself up, the cat waits for her on one of the metal steps, licking his black-furred paw in boredom. 

She grunts, straightening again. „What now?“

Chat looks up at her and then jumps up the stairs, she follows him, careful to avoid creating any loud noises. Just because she is, for any strange reason, trusting the cat, it does not mean, the people won‘t misunderstand why she climbs on a fire escape at night.

They are about to pass another floor when the black cat jumps through an open window, into an apartment. 

Marinette freezes. It‘s one thing to hurt somebody in self-defense, but voluntarily climbing into someone‘s home, she embraces her shoulders, her whole being hates it. 

Chat‘s head re-appears in the frame, his green eyes questionning. 

It‘s the moral and heroic side in her, she knows it‘s stupid, but she just can‘t. With Tikki and her Miraculous far away, she feels naked, exposed. Her heroism is the only thing keeping her sane right now, the only thing reminding her of who she is.

Never would she want to forget herself while being forced to abadon a part of her being, her heroism, her kindness and her compassion.

So she reluctantly screws together her eye lids, turning away and goes on climbing up the stairs in defeat.

„Desolée, mon Chaton. I‘m really grateful for you leading me here, but I just can‘t.“ she whispers, finally reaching the roof of the building and breathes in sharply a handful of cool air.

On contrary to whatever she expected, is the roof nothing like bare, it‘s more like a huge garden.

Thousands of pots and beets, cautiously stocked and put next to each other under an high stone ceiling, probably to protect them from the never-ending rain in Gotham. 

She sees gazilions of flowers, every fruit and vegetable possible, heck there are even mangos and coconuts!

Her mouth hangs open and she‘s sure she‘s catching flies like this, but it‘s just incredibly beautiful. Whoever‘s garden this is, the person‘s a magician.

Chat appears to her right, blinking lazily as he sits down next to her black boot. 

She steps closer to a huge tree, letting her eyes wander over the amount of healthy plants in wonder. 

Cause, who could have thought in Gotham plants CAN even grow? There was literally not a single, healthy ray of sunshine the whole day, she was here.

„Chat, I swear I take back everything I said. This was definetely worth the walk.“ she awes and slowly breathes in the sweet air.

It may look amazing, but it‘s nothing compared to the heavenly, temptatious smell. Being Ladybug made her extra sensitive to the scents of flowers and plants in general, and it smells so good, Oh, Kwami, Marinette feels tempted to rolling up next to a pot, wheezing in mirth.

Noticing a chair next to a large plam tree, she walks closer to it and sits down. Her muscles sigh in relief as she does that, she does a noise of relax too.

The Cat jumps onto her legs and she flinches in surprise. She never had a pet, true she had always wanted a hamster since the age of six, but in the end, mostly because of sanitary reasons in their bakery, she never really got to know how it is to have one.

Now having a cat, sitting on her thighs, his warmth becoming hers, it‘s overwhelming how at peace she feels.

She considers petting him, but quickly stops herself from doing that in fear she might scare him away then.

Purrs start rumbling from his feline throat as she leans back in exhaustion and ease, shifting her hat over her nose, to shield her eyes from the remaining lights in the city.

The sleep takes her, grabs her by her ankles and pulls her down, she drowns, but for once in the week, she‘s completely okay with that.  
____________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit less of action, but **needed** information for the following chapters.
> 
> The next one will be FUN. Especially for me.


	3. Not so dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She nervously fiddles with her hands behind her back. „I guess I have to. I‘ll tell you that much: I‘m from France, I have never been in Gotham before and I like your cat.“ she says.
> 
> The last thing she adds to probably seem nicer towards the feline-loving woman.
> 
> For furture references: desperate Marinette is un-surprisingly more the person to kiss ass than desperate Ladybug.
> 
> Harley breaks out into amused laughter, throwing her corpse forward. „I already like her, can we keep her?“
> 
> Marinette blinks irritiated. 
> 
> Fricking Really?
> 
> Is she considered to be a pet or what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something lead you here
> 
> Fate
> 
> Destiny
> 
> A green-eyed Cat

~  
Marinette dreams, she knows she does, but it changes nothing of the fear she feels herself sinking in when seeing it.

A mountain of unmoving bodies. Blood everywhere. Clothes sprinkled in tiny and bigger dots in a variety of redish colours. 

At the very base of it, Sabine and Tom, her beloved parents, still holding each other’s hands in a gesture of love and trust, dead.

Alya and Nino, just above them, heavily bleeding, both in their Superhero costumes, covering absolutely nothing since they are ripped and torn apart with claw marks. 

Adrien lies next to them, his head turned in an awful angle, his once so sparkling and beautiful eyes now glassy and dull.

Master Fu, close to the peak, his skull smashed, Wayzz and Tikki on top of his bloody chest, two pale unmoving bodies too.

Above these, at the very top; perfectly illuminated by whatever light source in dreams appears, so of course, no bruise, no gap in his body remains unseen; is her Chaton, her flirty, yet endearing partner, killed. Murdered. Dead.

„Is she dead?“ Something sharp pokes her ankle. „Yep, ‘m bettin‘ she‘s super dead.“

She wants to stop breathing, she wants to break into thousands of molecules to not feel the pain anymore. To not see what she caused with her stupidity and inexperience. 

Another voice tiredly sighs. „No, Harley, she is not dead, a dead person’s chest obviously wouldn’t be moving.“

It‘s her fault, she wasn‘t there to protect them.

„We can‘t know fer sure. She could be some kinda alien girl, which breathes through her mind, taking air through the holes in her ears.“ the louder voice says, doing odd noises.

Ladybug failed her city, her people are dead.

„She‘s sleeping. For now. If you go on yelling like that she most probably won‘t be anymore.“

An heart-broken, grieving tear rolls down her cheek.

„Uh oh, Red, watch it. The girl‘s not dead, she’s cryin‘.“

Someone touches her wet cheek, she frowns at the contact, the horrible pictures slipping from her mind to be replaced by comforting darkness. „She‘s waking up.“

Marinette opens her eyes, and immediately yelps out in surprise, when meeting three expectant, familiar pairs of eyes staring at her.

She blinks wildly, startled, still being intensely looked at.

Is this still part of her dream?

„Uhm, ...Hey?“ she asks. ( **They‘re. Still. Staring.** )

If yes, could she please return to the previous darkness? 

Please? 

Because three of the most wanted, female criminals are currently sitting in front of her, staring at her anticipatingly as if she might as well be about to tell a really bad joke.

Dear Tikki, this...is kind of awkward.

Grimacing, she clears her throat uncomfortably.

She was about to embarrassedly wave at them too, when a tension on both her wrists stops her. Looking over her shoulder, she realizes her hands are forced behind of the wood of the stool and her feet are tied together with what appears to be a long and (let‘s bet) probably undestroyable vine.

Well there went her freedom and Paris‘ future. 

Catwoman slowly leans forward in the huge black arm chair, she is sitting in, her green eyes, behind of the yellowish glass, moving closer. Now that the healthy distance is decreasing, Marinette can take a scruntinizing look at the texture of the fabric, her suit is made of. Leather and spandex, her solid helmet leaving only her pouty mouth and her intense eyes free. 

Her body language is smooth and confident, but she notices the tensed muscles behind it, the hard wariness.

A thin hand away, their noses about to connect in a gesture that is more than just strange, she suddenly stops, scowling.

„How did you find us?“ Her tone is accusing, sharp, the green, behind the glass of her helmet, angry.

Guessing by her words, she seems to be one coming straight to the point. 

Letting her eyes quickly dart from the villain‘s to check her surroundings, she comes to realize, the stunningly beautiful garden scenery was replaced by some dirty inside of an appartment.

No seriously, it’s not just her bad mood or the situation, making her talk that way, there to her left, she sees what someday was a kitchen, but now more resembles the inside of an organic waste collection bin. 

It’s disturbingly untidy, half-rotten left-overs on plates everywhere on the tables, smudged food all over the counter, a stack of dirty table ware drowning in the sink. 

Her dear mother would suffer a heart-attack if ever coming to see this. (Thank Kwami, she won‘t ever.)

Marinette looks back at the criminals, who are still intensely watching her, carefully keeping her facial features in place. No hints of fear or anger, (or at least she hopes her face is a blank picture, difficult to say with normaly being a person to un-consciously over-express), emotions should better be kept inside with these villains around.

She swallows once to moisture her dry throat, hoping to prevent her voice from seeming insecure or weak. 

(Guess, how it still sounds).

„I never wanted to.“ she croaks. A little more shivering in her tone and they actually would start to pity her.

Good Job, Mari, totally convinced them you’re not afraid. 

(Goddamn, miserable.)

The feline villain‘s eyes narrow, un-surprisingly no signs of pity noticeable, as she leans if possible even closer. 

„You‘re a liar.“

Liar. 

That‘s the only word, really hurting her. 

She fights Liars, she tries to help her friends to see the reality, she believes in truth, so it‘s insulting to be adressed as one.

But she won‘t lose her calm, she‘s higher than that. 

Master Fu didn‘t meditate with her for nothing, 

Tikki didn‘t talk about patience with her for nothing.

„I‘m not.“ she says.

„You‘re lying.“ Catwoman claims.

She frowns in frustration and despite knowing it’s useless, tries to wiggle free from the, made out of plants, handcuffs. „I didn‘t lie. I never lied to you.“

„You did just now.“ the woman argues.

„I hate liars.“

„Then you hate yourself.“

„I don‘t hate myself.“ she states.

„But you‘re a liar?“

„I‘m not.“

Before Catwoman can skin her for daring to protest her, another female speaks up.

„Kitty Cat, lemme try.“

The villain turns her head to Harley Quinn, standing next to her left, leaning onto her shoulder. The blonde wears black yoga pants and a red hoodie, with her hair being pulled up into her signature twintails.

She looks unusually serious to Marinette, the only pictures she ever found of her in the internet, were her laughing or grinning ones with either an hammer or a pistol in hands about to smash it down onto the photographer.

However her relief of being saved is short, when the clown themed villain now takes the turn of continuing the staring battle. „Who did ya tell about our place, kiddo?“ she asks.

Marinette‘s frown deepens while she slowly shakes her head. „Nobody, I already told you I never wanted to land here first.“

Catwoman growls. „Then why are you here?!“

She bites down a scoff and experimentaly, tries moving her hands behind the wood of the stool. The rope is tight, but not connected to other ones. Meaning: in an urgency she could just try to move her tied hands in front of her, over her head. 

Fortunately she’s flexible enough to do just that.

A deep breath to calm her anger. „The cat led me here.“

Catwoman back away, seemingly surprised with her answer. 

„What cat?“ she snarls, but her tone is less hard, she seems to be believing her at least a bit now. Hopefully she knows what Marinette‘s talking about, maybe she knows the cat.

Marinette licks her lips. „The black one, fern-green eyes, no collar, it climbed up here over the fire escape, jumped through a window at the fifth floor.“

Then suddenly Poison Ivy starts leaning towards the center of conflict, she says nothing, but her appearance makes Catwoman move away a bit for her to have place too.

Her hair is radiant, crimson-red, she is beautiful and yet wears nothing than a peculiar suit made of plants. 

Marinette feels her artistic vein speed up at the idea, clothes seeming to be a mixture of vines and flowers, maybe she could even work with wood or grass. 

Poison Ivy bown down to her, her face only centimeters away from hers, (they really have not a sliver of sense of decent privacy) Marinette can see the darker sparks in her green eyes. „Did he show you my garden?“ she says, her voice soft, almost _luring_.

The bluenette frowns again. 

It‘s a test. 

It’s really obviously a test. 

Only with her reputation in failing in un-expected tests (read: Ms. Mendeliev certainly thought it of it as funny to surprise them), she‘s SLIGHTLY unsure of how to react. 

What answer she should give so she won’t fail and sign her sentence of death.

In all honesty, no, Chat didn‘t show her the roof, he wanted for her to follow him inside.

But if she‘ll admit just that then it‘ll mean she willingly broke inside Poison Ivy‘s territory, her empire of plants.

The woman would certainly slap her for doing that then, strangle her with a vine in her sleep, but it’s alright, she‘d better be hit with a vine than willingly being a liar.

Anything is better than being like Liar Rosserie. 

(Loud Applause and crazy fangirls, screaming their souls out, in the background; Yes. She punned.)

She quickly shakes her head. „He didn‘t, I went up there myself.“ she admits.

Ivy‘s face stays unmoving for a few seconds, considering if she‘d be dumb enough to lie (obviously, she is not) and then rapidly increases in distance to hers. 

Soon the woman turns to her friends. „Girls, she‘s not lying. The cat hates my garden, for whatever un-understandable reasons.“

Suddenly Harley‘s mean snarl turns into a bright grinning visage, just before the blonde starts jumping on place, clapping her hands excitedly. „See? I told ya she‘s a cutie!“ she squeals.

Catwoman scoffs, crossing her arms. „Oh please, she once said the truth. That‘s hardly making it any better that she knows where we live now.“ 

Harley completely ignores her words and comes quickly rushing over, a huge smile on face. „Heyy, cutie! Name‘s Harley Quinn, nice to meetcha!“ she chirps.

Ivy grabs the, intimidating with her sudden gleeful demeanor, blonde by her waist before she could try to hug Marinette in an overrush of strong emotions.

„Daffodil, Selina is right. We still know too less about her.“ Ivy scolds.

The woman tries to wiggle free, but fails to do so. Selina meanwhile leans away from her chair towards Marinette again, probably to continue the interrogation.

„Who are you?“ Catwoman asks cautiously, the helmet on the same level as the girl‘s head now.

The bluenette sighs. 

Deeply. Great, so much about lying.

Of course, she’s not even dreaming of telling them her real name, since if she pisses them off, they shouldn’t be able to connect her to her parents and friends, but she can‘t exactly lie too.

Marinette bites onto her lower lip in frustration. „Will you be mad at me if I say my name is nothing important to know about me?“

Catwoman’s face twitches sourly. „Well I guess you don‘t want to find out.“

She nervously fiddles with her hands behind her back. „I guess I have to. I‘ll tell you that much: I‘m from France, I have never been in Gotham before and I like your cat.“ she says.

The last thing she adds to probably seem nicer towards the feline-loving woman.

For furture references: desperate Marinette is un-surprisingly more the person to kiss ass than desperate Ladybug.

Harley breaks out into amused laughter, throwing her corpse forward. „I already like her, can we keep her?“

Marinette blinks irritiated. 

Fricking Really?

Is she considered to be a pet or what?

The red head shakes her head at Selina, who merely tenses. 

„Do you know who we are?“ asks Ivy, crossing her arms.

Marinette quickly nods. „Oui, I read about you. But if you mean as in really knowing, no, I‘m seeing you the first in real life, as in not trough pictures.“

„Aren‘t you afraid?“ 

She smiles sadly. „Horribly. But let me put it that way: It‘s not the first time, I‘m being held somewhere against my will.“ she clears.

Ivy raises a brow and takes a breath to answer, but Harley outruns her. „Kay, why are ya here in Gotham then? Where are your momma and poppa? Do ya have any brothers? I do, four demons annoyed me until I was grown enough to flee from them.“

Catwoman lifts herself to a straight position again. „Harley, stop asking her as if she‘s some friend of us. She‘s not, and we will hand her to the police right now since she‘s refusing to answer.“

Marinette watches them in silence. There‘s just no way for her to be handed to the police, her folks need her, she‘ll kill them AND all of Gotham’s people if needed to get back to Paris.

She stills momentarily. 

Geez.

She can’t believe she indeed just think that. What a bloody fantasy, she developed after only a day spent here. 

Gotham’s certainly already leaving a huge stamp on her.

Merely trying to move her tied together feet, she feels her pistol still in place, in her front pocket. Seemingly they tied her up before thinking about searching for any weapons on her, or they just thought she‘s no threat. True, she looks rather petite and defenceless to them, but thank Kwami, she‘s far from that.

It‘s her advantage and she plans on using exactly that.

When Ivy tunes in too, claiming they should try pressing more on her, she quickly lifts her arms over her head from behind, slightly dislocating them while doing so. Her tied hands snap towards her front pocket and she pulls out the weapon inside.

„Holy-“

Seeing Catwoman jump at her, she pushes herself back against the chair, making it lose balance and fall backwards. She rolls over her back and stills on her knees, pistol lifted at them.

„I‘m not coming with you.“ she states as a matter of fact.

All of the women stare at her half surprised, half...amused. Marinette glares back in determination, since she‘d rather die than being held here any longer, held away from her City.

Tikki would be SO fucking proud.

Harley is the first to break the heavy silence. 

„Yaa suure we can‘t keep her? She‘s tough, we could do sooo many funny things.“ she whines, her red lips twisting into a pout.

Marinette moves the pistol to her. 

Catwoman rolls her glowing green eyes. „Girl, we won‘t bring you to the cops if you‘ll just tell us your name.“

She shifts her aim to the feline. „Pardon, but I‘ll be forced to refuse again.“

Ivy lifts her hands in a calming gesture, glaring at the cat villain. „Okay, then tell us as much as you‘re comfortable with. But allow me to ask, why won‘t you tell your name?“ the woman asks.

Marinette raises a brow. „I‘m in Gotham for exactly one day now and everything I learned about this place, implies for me to be extra careful. I swear I‘m not a psycho, your city is just heck of a dangerous place and I know better than to keep a lead behind.“ she explains.

One corner of Ivy‘s mouth lifts. „That‘s pretty paranoid.“

The bluenette snorts humorlessly, shifting her knees over the floor. „Merci, you aren‘t exactly welcoming too.“ she answers.

Harley moves closer, smirking, her hands lifted over her face. „Ya know she has a point here. We tied her up while she slept.“

Marinette takes aim on the blonde again. „Thank you, I noticed.“

The same moment she said that, Chat decides to enter, his nose proudly lifted into the air. She watches him closely, almost waiting for him to attack her too, but once he reached her, he meows loudly, trying to catch her attention.

She merely nods at him, her gaze not leaving the three villains in front of her. 

He mews again, she muffles a groan. 

These Black Cat’s and their bad timing.

„Chat, pas maintenant.“

Chat walks away pissed with her ignorance.

Catwoman taps her lower lip, her face suddenly breaking out into a chesire grin, her eyes darker than she saw them ever before. „We could just kill her then.“

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn look at their friend for a few seconds and then at Marinette, who grips the weapon tighter in her hands.

Ivy‘s smile turns evil, she spreads her arms. „You are right, I‘m pretty sure she wouldn‘t stand a chance against my little babies on the roof.“

The bluenette narrows her eyes. „Dare me to shoot.“

Harley tunes in, wildly playing with her twintails. „Well, it‘s been awhile since I last killed someone young, but I‘m not picky. Blood is blood, ya know. Tastes the same.“

Marinette breathes out. She really does not like the idea of hurting anybody, but if they decide to attack her, (maybe even try to eat her?) she‘ll be forced to act. 

Paris comes first, she can‘t die until she at least informed Master Fu about her absence, even if he probably already noticed, but what he does not know is that the earrings aren‘t with her, they are still in her room.

She feels a brow twitching, feeling tensed under the threats, and purses her lips. 

Actually she should be afraid, anxious, begging, she read enough about their skills to know she has no chance against the three of them at once. Without any advantage of surprise, she‘ll be dead in a game of seconds. 

Maybe she could flee over the fire escape, but they wouldn‘t let her, just her luck, she knows where they live afterall. 

She has not a single chance of coming out of this misery, so she says the first thing coming to mind. 

„Since I‘m quite sure I won‘t be alive in a few minutes, can I use your phone for a sec? I still have one thing to tell to an old friend of mine.“

They raise their brows in surprise, Harley holds back a snort.

Selina walks over to a shelf and grabs a phone. „Two minutes.“

Gratefully Marinette puts down the pistol, accepts it and nods in agreement. 

Two minutes then.

Marinette opens it and quickly searches for Master Fu‘s massage salon, then pressing calling, she holds the gadget to her ear with tied together hands (it‘s pretty uncomfortable just so to be said).

When she hears him taking the call, she quickly starts blurting words before he could, she has a strict time limit afterall. 

„Hey, Master, they’re in my room, please find someone temporally while I‘m away. Thankyou!“

There are a few silent seconds.

Then someone clears his throat. „Marinette?“

She flinches, but then remembers the villains couldn‘t have heard him, revealing her protected name. „Master?“

„Repeat please, I think I misunderstood.“ he says.

Now it‘s her turn to clear her throat. „Oh, sorry, I rambled, didn‘t I? Bad habits, however, I‘m across a ocean. Without the prey. Both are in my room. Please pass them to someone fitting while I‘m unattainable.“

He hums. „Is there a reason you are talking in riddles?“ he asks.

She swallows, feeling her mouth go dry in emotions. It‘s so strange to hear his voice again, knowing it’s the last time she ever will. 

„Nope. I just wanted to make sure you know, you have been an amazing teacher and mentor, and I greatly admire you for protecting them for so long. Greet Tikki of me, and the others too. If it won’t be too difficult then Chat too, tell him I actually liked his jokes, that’ll humor him enough to distract him over my death.“ she rants.

A shocked gasp, something falls to the ground in his apartment. „Your death?!“

She feels a sad smile working its way onto her lips, when her shoulders slump. „Yeah, I think it‘s time to say goodbye now, is there anybody you want me to greet in heaven?“

It‘s silent for a few seconds. 

„My mentors,“ he answers. „Tell them I‘m sorry for disappointing them.“ 

She frowns. „Master, you know as well as I do, it wasn‘t your fault back then, you were just hungry and were left on your own with them. Feast wasn‘t your fault!“

He sighs. „Marinette, you are still so young and unexperienced.“

She can‘t prevent a laugh from escaping her lips. „Well, thank you.“

„You shouldn‘t die.“

„It’s not like I have a choice in this. Would it go after me, I’d live forever. But I know. I promise I’ll die worthy, just like the honorable samurais.“

She can pretty much picture his facial expression, how his eyes cloud in worry, his hands clutching the ancient, old telephone in his tiny chamber. 

„Don’t stab yourself.“

„They stabbed themselves?“ she repeats.

He dodges her question. „I could try to send Khaalki over to you, maybe she could teleport you here in time.“

She blinks considering, but then breathes out. „Master, I won‘t endager her for my safety.“

„Where are you?“

„Far away.“

„Means?“

„Far away.“

„Marinette.“

„Master.“

„Why are so stubborn?“

A corner of her mouth lifts. 

„Don‘t die. Is there any chance you could fight?“

She glances up at her kidnappers. They stare back at her. „Oh, I could. But it won’t be enough.“

He sighs again. „Marinette, Tikki will kill me.“

She giggles, trying to imagine her sweet Kwami holding a knife and threatening Master Fu.

„It won‘t be that bad. I‘m just one of the previous ones.“

„You’re not, and you know that.“

„And you will live without me just fine.“

„Chat Noir will kill me too, you know he loves you.“

She swallows down the tears, threatening to leave her eye balls. „I love him too. Tell everybody I loved them.“

„Marinette, will it be quick?“

A breath. „I don‘t know, will you stay with me till the end?“

„I will.“

„Thank you.“

She glances up again at the female villains in front of her, they look ..sad, but it‘s probably more her own emotions making her see that.

Then she puts down the cell phone for a second, pushes the pistol towards them and grabs the only connection to Paris again, pressing her ear against it.

She closes her eyes, hearing someone pick up the weapon, and waits.

„I‘m ready.“ she whispers, more to herself than to Master Fu or her soon murderers.

When a loud crash sounds, she flinches, thinking it was the shot. 

However only a panicking second later, she still breathes, feels no pain and sees no bright, clear light. 

It‘s as dark and dull as before with her eyes closed back in Gotham.

Is now a bad moment to say she‘s gravely disappointed to find out the bible lied?

Just as she is about to stand up to search for the, hopefully only across the corner and not non-existant, heaven, all of sudden, someone roughly tackles her.

She cries out in surprise, her eyes suddenly flicking open and her body falling backwards, the phone miraculously still in hands.

Catwoman lands on top of her legs, grabs her shoulders and starts shaking her.

„We won‘t kill you, idiot! Just tell us your fucking name!“

The world stops spinning for a second, Marinette blinks dizzily. 

„Did you seriously just make me farewell for nothing?“

To Master Fu, from the other side of the connection, she says. „False alarm, they won‘t kill me. You‘ll hear of me soon.“

She turns off the call, the phone falls to the carpet.

The feline woman takes her face with one hand and squishes her cheeks until she‘s able to compete with a pufferfish. „Sweetheart, we seriously just want your name to have something in return.“ 

One clawed hand points to Marinette. „You know where we live.“

The woman gestures to herself. „We want something to make sure you won‘t tell people.“

Marinette‘s face darkens. „I won‘t tell people, I have more important things to do.“

Selina growls. „Why should we believe you? You won‘t even tell us your name.“

„I can tell you anything else about me if you like.“

„Who are you?“ Selina asks the million-dollar-question.

„I am french girl who likes designing, I’m sixteen and can bake. I hate physics and love my city. That‘s why I won‘t tell you my name. You can punch me, kick me, torture me, but you won‘t get my people.“ she speaks out with more confidence and determination than she originally planned.

Harley steps forward. „Are ya a believer?“

Marinette blinks startled. „What?“

„I won‘t judge, I‘m jewish, I respect god and his folks, but I swear you‘re acting like Jesus right now.“ she chirps.

Ivy pulls her back by her shoulder. „Daffodil, now‘s not the time.“

Catwoman holds one claw in front of the girl‘s face threatingly, her face revealing her anger and frustration.

„Why you little-“

Suddenly Marinette has an idea. They want to have something against her so she won’t run around outing their home, she, on the other hand, could use a ceiling above her head before the Cure is used to return her.

Maybe..

She smiles as Selina claws the air in front of her nose, a centimeter away from her skin. „Whatcha grinning at?“ Harley asks, a spark of curiosity inside her ice blue eyes.

„I think I have an idea of how to solve this situation with everybody pleased.“

That gets the attention of every person in the room, even Chat lifts his head from the floor.

„Go on.“ Ivy says, stepping closer.

Marinette smiles up innocently at her. „I‘ll just live here too.“

Harley squeals out in glee, Ivy raises her brows and the Cat Woman on her legs, hisses as if she‘d just personally insulted her feline mother.

„NO! Don‘t even-“

The blonde bounces around Marinette and Selina. „YES! I always wanted a little sister, we are goin‘ to have soo much fun!! I will brush your hair, then ya will mine, then we‘ll bath Kitty Cat‘s cat and do pillow fights in the bath tub!“

Selina hisses at Harley now. „My CAT has a name!“

Harley raises her nose into the air. „Your CAT‘s name is LAME!“

Ivy coughs to get anyone‘s undivided attention. „What makes you think we would agree with that?“

Marinette feels her feet cramp under the pressure of one human body on these. So she simply smiles the pain away. 

„Oh, there are multiple reasons. Firstly, I can bake, I can cook and I make these tables lack any dirty plates.“

She throws a glance at the filled tables with plates and rotten garbage, Ivy‘s face darkens at that.

„Secondly, I won’t be able to tell anybody then. I would immediately lose my own home too and I wouldn’t be dumb enough to enrage you.“

„Thirdly, you can watch over me and hold me in charge.“

„Fourthly, I can’t leave, I would have to sleep outside then, I can‘t just flee from you.“

„Fifthly, I can sew. Whatever holes you have in your costumes, I can fix these.“

„Sixthly,-“

Ivy lifts a hand to stop her self-praising promotion. „Okay, okay, that‘s enough.“ she turns to Harley who nods excitedly.

Catwoman growls, looking at the Plant Lady. „Don‘t you even dare.“

The red head glances back at Marinette, frowning. „How are you so good with this anyway, dear?“

„Uh?“ she voices unintelligently. 

„With this criminal business, staying calm with threats, surviving, convincing.“ Her moss green eyes spark.

The bluenette shrugs. „Guess I have been ready for that for a while now.“ 

It‘s true afterall, somewhere she always expected to be in such a screwed situation someday. Her so supposed Ladybug luck never affected her out of custume afterall, her subconsciousness did the work for her in case she‘d end up here.

Harley grins widely. „How old are ya? I‘d guess fourteen, you‘re so smol and cute.“ she squeals.

She returns the smile. „I‘m sixteen and yes, I‘m short as heck. Stupid genes.“

Catwoman stands up from the bluenette‘s legs, turning up her mouth, to dead-pan stare at Poison Ivy. 

Harley starts playing with Marinette‘s hair now, which is strangely pleasant to her. 

She knows it’s like super dumb and stupid, but she didn‘t expect for the clown themed villain to be even ABLE to be so careful. Also just the mere thought that it‘s a blood-lusty criminal, who sat in Arkham more than just once, is currently touching her head, is not helping her confusion too.

„Ya have such a strange shade of hair, kiddo. It‘s almost blue. Maybe I should call ya Blue then, since we have a Red already.“ she chirps, throwing a wink at Poison Ivy, who quickly looks away, blushing.

Suddenly the blonde reveals a knife from the inside of the pocket of her hoodie. 

Marinette can‘t keep herself from flinching in surprise.

Jeezes, and this has been there for how long now?

„Don‘tcha worry, Blue. You‘ll be a free Girl in seconds.“

Harley‘s tongue pokes out in concentration as well as hers, trying to avoid any sudden movements of her hands. It would be just greatly funny if she‘d accidently kill herself now after merely dodging her death a few minutes prior.

Then she hears Selina moving over to Ivy, both starting to whisper a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This somehow turned out more religious than I expected. 
> 
> Like, really.


	4. Planting Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shall we look what Ivy thinks of this situation and get a look inside Selina‘s mind?
> 
> We shall.

~  
She watches Harley carefully cutting through the membrane of the vine, every movement slowed down. 

Ivy is more than just aware of how quickly the blonde could deal with such an easy obstacle as one of her weaker vines, dear forces of nature, she once saw how Joker‘s ex-girlfriend sliced off people‘s fingers as if they‘d been some vegetables on a chopping board.

(Certainly an inpressive skill, even though it‘s a human performing it, yet since it implies for her daffodil -who as one of the scarce proponents of her race is approved of by Ivy- to be the performer, she can admit of it as sensational.)

And here she is, the same quirky, tending to get overexcited, blonde, not handling her vine anything close to fast, oh no, she‘s unusually mindful with every incision, she causes. 

Every flick of wrist calculated so it won‘t cut any deeper than neccessary.

Every tensing in muscles proving the wariness of accidently slipping and touching black fabric instead of plant cells.

And all of that, just because of this stranger, this odd girl.

A french teen, who has apparently more courage, than they‘d expected her to have. 

Their threats neither had the wished out-coming of effect on her, nor did they manage to scare her. She didn’t break when Selina tried to intimidate her, she remained stubborn when they claimed to show her the police department from inside with her being in handcuffs, even the words of gruesome death merely brought a reaction of fear.

So Ivy came to the conclusion that she’s rare. 

Unusual enough to resemble a mutated kind of buttercups. Definetely beautiful and innocently looking from the outside, an almost delicate-like flair embracing it, yet poisonous for those who failed to fear it.

(The term of beauty in this claim is used carefully, since the ability to prefer an outher appearance to another, is always subjective; in Ivy‘s opinion an evolution in favor of survival is always beautiful, while some might not approve of her position)

It‘s most likely exciting to find out why she appears the way she is. 

Ivy even catched herself, wondering about the secrecy and started hatching as much as possible informations to finally figure her out. 

First of all, she is wary. Almost always prepared to be attacked out of the blue. 

Also she has a natural stubborness, which in any normal circumstances could have meant her death, yet in this exact scenario worked out in her favor.

What brings us to the next trait, she is incredibly reck- and fearless. Any normal person wouldn‘t have dared to start arguing with them.

**Especially** not with Selina. 

**Especially** not when she is in her (like Harley loves to call it) protective-cat-mother state.

Even her dear, curious Harley couldn‘t escape the mystery that is an european-heritaged girl. It’s more like the contrary, the blonde was the one to fall first. 

Knowing them and their nosiness‘, it’s only a matter of time until she and Selina will be soon enraptured with her too. 

„Ivy, we won‘t drag her into this.“ 

Calculations failed. Return to the Menu to start again.

Ivy shrugs the surprise away with her shoulders. „You heard her, she‘s used to this shit, it wouldn‘t matter anyway.“

Selina shakes her head, frowning in anger, but Ivy‘s trained enough with her expressions to see the obvious worry behind of it.

„It does not mean we should pull her into our world, Ives, it‘s dangerous for such a young girl. She‘s too young and innocent, she could live normally without all of this crap.“ she says.

Selina Kyle is the one of them who had the worst childhood. 

Pamela Lilian Isley was raised lonely, alone, plants being her only friends; Harleen Francis Quinzel had a huge crazy family and therefore was born with a strong interest in criminality for which she was later teased and bullied.

They were struggling too, but it’s nothing compared to what Selina Kyle has been through. The woman fought on streets from her chilhood on, she simply stole to survive. Being an orphan, she didn‘t even got to know human care and couldn‘t really call a place her home.

Selina always had the urge to protect the innocents then, she never killed, steals only from people who don‘t suffer of financial problems, despite her bad reputation, she is good, Ivy would even call her, kindhearted.

And that‘s exactly why she will be trying to protect the young french girl.

The situation resembles too much her own in young years, her sympathy and empathy will lead her to try to keep the girl as far as possible from the dangers. And since the dangers in this case can be characterized as **them** , it‘s not surprising at all that the woman reacted that horrified towards the idea of letting her stay.

But while Ivy can definetely follow that line of thought, -she wishes for only a low percentage of humans to live their lives- she thinks otherwise.

They can only guarantee, she won’t end up dead somewhere alone in the streets, if they SEE her alive. (The logic behind of it is obvious, yet simple.)

And while the girl better shouldn’t mess with their world at such an age, she already did and probably will in the future too, so the best they can do is try to protect her.

(Maybe even study meanwhile, who knows.)

If the choice stands between letting her die in the streets or her dying after she at least lived an interesting criminal‘s life, she‘d vote for the latter.

Now she only got to convince Catwoman to stop being over-protective and let the girl collect some interesting memories.

So Pamela swiftly grabs Selina’s chin and turns it for her to look at the unfolding wonder next to them. 

„Look at them, Selina. Harley‘s acting so caring, maybe the girl‘s exactly what we need to quit our dangerous world at least at home.“ she softly whispers.

There could be so many ways to describe the picture of Selina‘s shoulders dropping, yet she finds none.

„I know,“ Selina sighs. „but she could get hurt, because of us, you do realize that?“

Ivy smiles, after guessing right and expecting these words. „I know. But do have any better ideas? I‘m pretty sure she‘s either homeless or an orphan. You probably also noticed she didn‘t mention her home or her parents once too, she has nowhere to go.“

Selina‘s nose scrunches up in frustration, the first hints of defeat noticeable.

„We can’t let her wander alone through Gotham.“ Ivy adds on top.

Selina scoffs. „Well actually I’m pretty sure the streets should be fearing her instead of her these.“ 

Ivy hums, agreeing. 

She still has in memory how the same, so supposed defenceless, girl just a few minutes ago pulled a pistol out of nowhere. 

All of them were pretty startled by that. Despite the ridiculous situation they were in.

The woman spins her green eyes to her, her glare, ever the protective, direct and worried again. „But she was ready to die, Ives. DIE.“ she emphasises. „And how old is she? Only sixteen. What sixteen-year-old girl is willing to die after only calling some „old friend“ of hers? Who even does that?!“ she enrages.

Ivy lets her gaze wander over the girl‘s body as the bluenette frees her own ankles from a vine now, without the help from her daffodil. 

The young girl looks pretty thin for her age.

Presumedly she‘s not eating enough.

Maybe never even had the opportunity to.

Harley meanwhile marvels over every cut she does, her blue eyes following her movements curiously, drinking it all in, in fascination, mesmerized by something so simple like a teenage girl, like her.

They act so natural with each other, Ivy satisfiedly notices.

Strengthened again, she hums, considering her next words.

She‘s almost there.

„I don’t know. But it means no matter if she’ll stay with us or not, she would just get into trouble anyway, and she shouldn’t be on her own even if she seems to be surviving not bad till now.“ 

Selina purses her lips. „And it has nothing to do with Harley? She likes her, doesn‘t she?“

Glancing back at the two blue eyes, she registers Harley trying to braid the girl‘s hair, but fails since they‘re too crowded with knots, too disheveled to try to part them.

More like adores her.

Nonetheless Ivy grimaces. „It‘s better for both to let her stay, Selina. Harley will be pouting a full month if we kick her out and the girl will most likely end up between a dustbin and a rain water downpipe then.“

Selina shudders unvoluntarily. „Scary scenario. I won‘t be able to convince you otherwise, will I?“

Ivy nudges her shoulder with hers in a friendly gesture. „Never.“

The mysterious girl stands up now after releasing her ankles and looks straight at them, the blue of her eyes so innocent, but smart.

She‘s an enigma to be solved, Ivy realizes, and so they will.


	5. Pizza all over me, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley snorts, poking Marinette’s cheek with her pale index finger, so she is forced to move her head away from the contact. „Blue, I don‘t know wha‘ orphanage ya escaped from, but we don‘ have any rules here.“
> 
> Ivy nods, moving closer to her right. „No rules,“ she agrees. „Only don‘t visit my garden without me being there again. This time you had luck, but my babies love to play and I figure you‘re not keen on getting eaten alive.“
> 
> Marinette‘s eyes widen at the illustrational, mental image.
> 
> Ivy hums in thoughts, her fingers stroking her imaginary beard, while Marinette meanwhile braces for whatever restrictions are about to be added. „Also I wouldn‘t suggest coming close my chamber too.“ she vaguely gestures to herself. „It‘s kind of toxic for non-me‘s.“
> 
> „And speaking of, if you‘d ever see any bottles standing out in the open, I‘d be cautious stepping close it if I were you. You‘re only protected by basic skin and I suppose you don‘t want a few painful burns and don‘t like the idea of etching down your flesh up until to your bones.“ she gives a hum again. „Only of course, if you don‘t die poisoned first.“ she goes on.

~

Marinette blinks at the two villains standing a few feet away from her, absently rubbing her wrists, still feeling the pressure of the vines on these, ghosting over her skin. The women seem to be talking about her, the subtle green-eyed glances, they threw her way at least seem to be indicating towards it.

She really hopes they‘ll let her stay. 

At least for now. 

She won‘t be living here too long anyway, just until the cure is used.

But that's not necessary for them to know.

Then Harley Quinn comes walking over, her black hat in white hands. 

No seriously, her skin is so pale, it seems to be almost shining in a soft blue. No idea, how that is even possible.

„Here ya go, kiddo.“ she hands her the hat, she stole a night previously. 

Marinette gladly takes it and briefly bows her head at the woman in gratitude. 

Only after sinking her nails into the fabric, she dares to spin back to Poison Ivy and Catwoman, who are now critically frowning at her. 

Great, they won‘t accept her, it‘s obviously written on their pretty criminal faces. 

But if their refusal means they‘ll kill her then, Marinette is not sure. Definitely not desirable, but it's not like she can change anything too. Pains of being stuck in a weak teenage body and having these damn, strong moral boundaries.

Pressing her lips together to keep them from blurting something stupid and pulling herself deeper into the garbage (she has an astonishing talent for that), she steps backwards towards the half-opened window in the kitchen, the same Chat probably jumped through earlier when she refused to seek some warmth.

(Looking back it was probably the best decision ever, she can't even imagine what they would have done with finding her INSIDE their home instead of just on top of it, in their garden. Absolutely more than tied her up in plants, that's for sure.) 

With her kidnappers not spending a glance at her anymore, being too distracted whisper-yelling at each other, she slowly creeps closer to what is possibly her only way out before they'll decide they want to kill her for real now.

Since maybe while they‘re too busy to mind her, she could flee? (That‘s super stupid, yet somehow the foolish hope knocked out the logic part of her brain with one mighty hit of baseball bat.)

But the moment her weight settled on the floor again, the second she ended her cautious step, she immediately winces, a pained whine almost escaping her lips, since a wooden plank decided to make a hella loudly creaking announcement. 

Gah.

Maybe they didn’t hear it?

Slowly she lifts her head and yep, meets three expectant stares again, it’s obvious they absolutely heard.

„I wanted to close the window? It’s cold.. don’t you think?“ she tries explaining awkwardly, shuffling on her feet, her thumb half-heartedly gesturing to behind her back.

Faintly she hears Harley giggling traitorously.

Catwoman just merely smiles. (More like a tension of muscles in her mouth area forming a lifeless grimace.) 

Marinette cusses internally. Oh, here it comes, the gentle rejection to kindly refuse her offer, before they‘ll liquidate her so she won‘t go out, yelling out the exact coordinates of their home. 

She‘s SO screwed.

„Stay.“ Selina mumbles from between of her clenched teeth. 

Marinette incredulously laughs out, utterly breath- and speechless.

There‘s **no way** , they would seriously let her stay after she slept in their garden, snarked at them and then, just the little cheery on top of the cream tower, threatened to kill them in their own home. True they are kinda criminals and practically dismiss any normalcy, but even lawless have some sane neurons in force of their decence.

„Pardon, I think I misheard-“

„PLEASE STAY!“ Marinette flinches at the volume, almost dropping the hat in her hands.

„okay.“ slightly on edge, she puts down the hat over her sweaty hair to conceal it, Harley saw enough of the condition of these while toying with her streaks.

Embracing her own waist and shifting on her feet again, she suddenly sees the whole situation she just ill-conceivedly agreed to.

She’ll be living with the three of Gotham’s most dangerous, infamously ruthless criminals, who are, by the way, most wanted by practically anybody from the local Heroes to the police too. See any possible difficulties?

Also just the plain mental idea: She, Ladybug, Role Model for kids and fan girlish adults, Hero of Paris, being side by side with criminals.

Voluntarily notabene. (Who wouldn't want to destroy their own reputation of noble heroism when given the possibility.)

Chat would throw himself to the floor in cackling laughter. Dear Tikki will most definetely kill her with her tiny paws once she finds out.

However quickly clearing her throat to get rid of the incredulance, Marinette puts on a brave face to conceal the nervous laughter bubbling on the tip of her tongue.

There‘s literally no time to back out now, she‘ll do the best with what‘s given. She always does, has done that since the age of ten, since meeting her long-time bully Chloe Bourgeios (Kwami beware). After the age of thirteen, after her getting the Miraculous, it became even more improvised and spontaneous. 

She‘s used to disasters. She can handle them.

Really.

They can be practically considered her friends now, with how regular they visit her, to mess up her perfect life sometimes. (Quick sentimental moment included)

So she awkwardly clasps her hands together, cringing when the sound is louder than expected in the uncomfortable silence. „Anyway, I suggest to write down a few rules then.“

Ivy frowns, Harley‘s head leans to one side in confusion, only Selina nods, walking over to a desk.

After burrowing inside one shelf, the Cat Lady returns with her prey in hands. A crinkled piece of paper and a short pencil. It‘s probably strange, but she feels somewhat relieved to find out they still have basic, normal stuff in their shelves, not just knives and pistols.

Catwoman sits down on a bar stool, next to the dirty kitchen counter, and after pushing some rotten food on table ware by side, starts writing. 

Marinette walks over to her, curiously glancing over her shoulder, careful to still keep a respectful distance to her. 

While they may be Roommates now, she definetely won’t go all cuddly with them. They just met afterall.

„Anonymous girl in coat, tell me what you need.“

She swallows startled, backing away. „Wait, actually I meant as in what I‘m allowed to touch or whose chambers not enter.“

Harley snorts, poking Marinette’s cheek with her pale index finger, so she is forced to move her head away from the contact. „Blue, I don‘t know wha‘ orphanage ya escaped from, but we don‘ have any rules here.“

Ivy nods, moving closer to her right. „No rules,“ she agrees. „Only don‘t visit my garden without me being there again. This time you had luck, but my babies love to play and I figure you‘re not keen on getting eaten alive.“

Marinette‘s eyes widen at the illustrational, mental image.

Ivy hums in thoughts, her fingers stroking her imaginary beard, while Marinette meanwhile braces for whatever restrictions are about to be added. „Also I wouldn‘t suggest coming close my chamber too.“ she vaguely gestures to herself. „It‘s kind of toxic for non-me‘s.“

„And speaking of, if you‘d ever see any bottles standing out in the open, I‘d be cautious stepping close it if I were you. You‘re only protected by basic skin and I suppose you don‘t want a few painful burns and don‘t like the idea of etching down your flesh up until to your bones.“ she gives a long hum again. „Only of course, if you don‘t die poisoned first.“ she goes on.

Ivy takes another breath to continue. „Also-,“

Selina quickly spins in the chair to grab Marinette by her shoulders, throwing a dark glare at the, rambling down rules, woman. „What she ACTUALLY is trying to say is, try to stay out of her territory and you‘ll be fine.“ she gently rephrases, squeezing a bit. 

Then the grip painfully tightens when Selina looks back at Ivy, who turned away pissed. „No need to immediately intimidate the poor girl, Pamela. She may be young and incredibly reckless, but she won’t be dumb enough to open random glowing bottles!“ 

Gee thanks.

Poison Ivy scoffs back, her arms crossed in annoyance and insultment. „Oh look who‘s talking. Just a minute prior you were about to chew off the poor girl‘s head for **coincidently** landing on our roof!“

Is she just imagining things or is the air suddenly thicker?

„Hey, I‘m trying to protect US! Only thanks to me, we are not in Arkham right now! Show some gratitude!“ Selina snaps back, dragging a shell-shocked blinking Marinette closer to herself. Closer into the center of conflict.

Her life was sweet and eventful as long as it lasted.

Suddenly Harley steps in before it could have escalated into a big physical fight, quite literally since she rescues Marinette and places herself between the women. 

„As much as it‘s entertainin‘ to watch ya two fightin‘, we‘re grown up adults,“ her pale face scrunches up eyeing the two previously yelling women critically from head to toe. „kind of.“ She hatefully pouts at the wall, rubbing over her belly. „I’m starvin’. Ya can fight as much as I care once I‘ve eaten’.“ Harley looks up expectantly at the now, intensely glaring at her, women. „Who‘s in for pizza?“

Ivy sniffs disgusted. „Pizza is gross. Probably the most dumbest and disgusting thing, human society invented after fire.“

Harley releases a mightily offended gasp with Selina in the background rolling her eyes. „How dare ya, Red! How could ya insult the tasty and lovely pizza!“

„Pizza is trash. You can order anything you want. Just not this insultment to my palate!“ Ivy yells back.

Selina walks over to Marinette, a kind expression on her face (or at least as kind as a tight frown can be).

„Seriously do you have some wishes?'' she asks again. ,,Don't be shy, just say a word and we arrange something.''

She’s got billions of wishes, thank you very much, but she won‘t fall that low and beg for them to fulfill them. She still has some left-overs of healthy pride, you know. 

However she shrugs indifferently, carefully assessing her answer. She does not intend on ordering anything, since they‘d probably just steal the stuff for her then. That's a scenario to if possible to prevent. „Not really, I can sleep anywhere you want me to, but I will be too busy to sleep anyway.“

Pouting Harley walks over to her and drapes herself over the girl’s shoulder like a swaying alcoholic in search of stable support. „Wanna sleep with me then? I won‘ bite and snore,'' she says, lifting a palm and crossing her heart. ,,Promise.“

Marinette feels a little smile working itself onto her lips at her silly antics. „I really hope you‘re not lying or else I‘d just kick you out.“

The woman‘s face slips into a cheeky grin, her arms embracing Marinette's neck a little bit cuddlier.

„For the sake of needed accuracy,'' Ivy tunes in, having stepped closer without anybody noticing. ,,She‘ll be sleeping on the couch.“ Ivy's tone is hard and leaves no room for protests.

Selina fakely coughs into her with spandex covered fist, trying to lessen the rising tension. „You mentionned you like designing?“

„I do, I have always sewn my own clothes.“ Marinette lights up at the range of subject. Fashion and Designing is something she can always work with.

Briefly, she thinks of showing them her Chat Noir PJ under that heavy coat of hers, but she quickly scraps that idea, the fabric of these are too dirty and crinkled to reveal to them. It would be honestly more embarrassing than admirable to look at. For both parties.

Nonetheless the blonde cuddler pronounces a variety of different oh‘s and ah's, inspecting the stolen hat on her head.

„Did ya made these yerself? I luv' it!“ she cooes, while Marinette swiftly withdraws one sleeve of her coat from her eager, white fingers.

She shakes her head at the villain, trying not to sound too insulted. They couldn‘t have known afterall that she is more creative than THAT and that it's not her craft work and that if given the opportunity she could prove her actual talent and that she would most likely spike her fingers drawing blood, yet would finish the piece and would do better than **this** , so there is no need to be pissed over something that unimportant. 

But, she pouts anyway. „These are stolen, not mines. I would have chosen a colour not reminding me of burned potatoes.“

Selina throws a quick glance at Ivy, then turns to Marinette, gently grabbing her shoulders by the process again.

„Uh, well?“ the woman voices, the girl meanwhile patiently waits for her to overcome her troubles in language, sympathising with her pains.

Catwoman muffles a groan, then clears her throat trying to regain her pride. „What should we call you then? Since you‘re so _kind_ to refuse the knowledge of your name.“ Her words have a certain spike to it, making Marinette want to laugh at the odd situation.

One corner of her lips twitches and she crosses her arms over her chest protectively, despite her appearance actually inside humoured. „If this is one last attempt to tikkle my real name out of me, I‘ll just kindly ignore it.“

Selina huffs, squeezing her shoulders through the fabric of the coat. „Please do. Now?''

Marinette lets lose a long, exaggeratedly exhausted sigh. ,,What?'' she eventually asks.

Now Selina rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue at her in sharp reprimand. „I asked how you want us to call you. I suppose ,,anonymous girl'' could work too, but that's rather rude and impractical, don't you think?“

„ABSOLUTELY,'' Harley suddenly tunes in, grabbing a wary Marinette by her wrist to turn her towards herself and grazing the girl's cheek with the back of her other hand. ,,Ya need a name. A title. So everyone will immediately recognise ya.''

Oh dear, figures now's the best time to fear the worst.

Harley scrunches up her nose, thinking. Then a glint of excited mischief leaks through her facade of pensiveness while she leans closer to Marinette's face. ,,Ohhhhhh,'' she anticipatingly drawls, her hands dramatically underlining her words by doing giddy fanning gestures. ,,I have an idea and ya'll luv' it, I guarantee!“ she squeals. 

The Cat themed villain lifts a patient brow at the overexcited blonde. „No, Harley,'' she scolds her like a mid-aged teacher would a pre-schooler. ,,We definitely won‘t call her Harleen second or Harley Junior.“ 

The hoodie-wearing villain makes a show of dramatically mimicking a gasping fish. „How dare ya, furry sister! I'm above these things. Naturally, I wouldn't just selfishly name her after Moi,'' she finally playfully enrages (the grin is evident and noted), her black nails contrasting against the pale skin of her chest, where she presses her hand to. ,,Just so ya know Seli-Cat, I had something entirely different in mind!“ she ends with a wide, devilish grin.

,,Ohhhh, suure.'' Selina unimpressedly stretches the answer. 

Suddenly Ivy walks over to the both, her hands lifted to calm the (again!) arguing women down. ,,No fighting in front of our,'' she turns to stare at Marinette's knees for a full minute, which shuffle. ,,Guest.''

,,Oh, of course!'' Harley pipes up, every hint of maliciousness forgotten when she almost throws herself at the unsuspecting bluenette. ,,Wouldn't wanna be a bad host, would we?'' A grin appears on her red lips again. ,,Ya're probably hangry, right?'' Marinette takes an intake of air to answer, yet Harley simply continues with a broad smirk. ,,We should order five large double-cheese, extra cheese, no gross pepperoni or pineapple, but a lotta salami and tomatoes, also some mozzarella cheese sprinkled on top, pizza from Antonio's so our poor hangry girl won't starve.''

Marinette blinks processing while Harley lovingly pats her cheeks.

Ivy doesn't leave them waiting for too long and immediately gags out in disgust. ,,No,'' she howls, shivering. ,,Not the terrible double-cheese pizza again!''

Selina simply, slowly shakes her head at the blonde's satisfied smile. ,,Harley Quinn, you have a really unhealthy obsession with pizza,'' she states obviously. ,,Yet -I can't believe I'm saying this- you're right, she is probably hungry and needs a shower.''

Ivy subtly nods in agreeing. ''That's absolutely correct. Her body smell could rival the dead mouse from beneath of the kitchen shelf, your cat dragged in,'' now she hatefully glares at Chat, who lies innocently sleeping on the carpet. ,,If you won't throw out this cat already, I'll use him in my experiments, Selina. He's been munching on my poor baby roses. AGAIN.''

Selina rolls her eyes AGAIN.

,,Do you want some pizza? We can order as much as you like.'' With a turning of head (hallelujah!), she personally addresses to Marinette now, instead of talking over her while she's standing **right next to them** , which is by the way **impossibly** rude.

Does she want to eat?

Absolutely. Her stomach feels like it's actually a black hole. Able to take up anything, without being satisfied. (Physics can be useful sometimes, who could have guessed.)

Yet the thought of staying here any longer, in the circle of these arguing criminals, is not quite compelling. She needs some peace to let the situation sink in and she‘ll get some alone time, even if the lack of calories makes her phrase in scientific facts already, (that's a spooky withdrawal symptom) then so be it.

Marinette puts on an apologentic smile, nervously playing with her thumbs. „I‘m fine. Not hungry. I just want to go out. For a walk. Outside.“

Strangely it sounds like she's more asking for permission than stating a stable fact. She blames it on the awkwardness and hunger.

Selina‘s shoulders tense a bit, her eyebrows forming a straight black line. „Oh sure. Okay. That‘s good.“ she quietly mumbles. „Are you sure?“

,,Yep.'' she nods, praying her stomach won't decide to make itself noticed to speak against her.

,,Alright then,'' Selina says, picking up the pistol which had been laying there on the carpet after the almost murder of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. ,,So here is your pistol,'' she hands it over to the girl and resumes in awkwardly patting Marinette's shoulder now. ,,Stay safe.'' she says after clearing her throat, her green eyes looking anywhere than at the bluenette's.

Marinette slips the weapon inside her coat's front pocket again, where it actually belongs, nibbling on her lower lip. „I'll go then?'' she asks. 

Update for those who didn't noticed: the confidence she maybe someday once wore, now completely abandoned her miserable body and left behind the awkward girl again. Never she wished to be able to dissolve into smoke more than now. (That's a lie, she had millions of these situations, yet never got to handle them like a normal being should be able to now already with naturally suffering of oral vomit and a flood of embarrassing clumsiness.)

Nonetheless she forces herself to stand up straighter again. She actually has something to be proud of. No idea how, but she managed to convince a pack of criminals to not kill her and ALSO to let her share their own HOME, with nothing coming out for them than an ordinary cleaning aid, who by the way in their eyes shouldn't be too trustable after she threatened to shoot them.

If she is not a fricking badass, then WHAT?

She walks over to the window, climbs onto the stone ledge (without pushing over the pots with flowers on that; isn't she agile?) and starts climbing through the gap out to the cold. However Selina grabs her by her coat before she could pull her full body outside, so she is forced to pause with half of her body already being in contact with freshness and her but raised into air, staring back at her merciful hosts.

Talking about good impressions.

Having stopped surprised, she now watches the intruder of her personal space raise a brow.

„You are aware of the fact that we have a door, right?“ she asks.

Marinette rolls her eyes, gently withdrawing the fabric of her coat from the woman‘s fingers by moving her hip to the right, causing for a flower to be squished between her thigh and the frame. It could be that Ivy winced and flinched at that. „Doors are for people without imagination. Besides that, I like the view from up here better than some boring stairs.“

Harley lifts two thumbs at her in approval, snickering. 

Selina's face twitches into a kinder expression (the tight frown is definitely reassuring). ,,I'm serious. Be safe. We'll leave some pizza in the fridge and you can use the shower. Take the white towels to dry yourself, those are not drizzled in poisons or herbs or whatever Ivy used the others for to wet them in.'' 

The bluenette shifts backwards, feeling the sudden strong (maybe stupid, who knows how the feline would react) urge to hug Catwoman. It's heart-warmingly kind. So incredibly nice and sweet of her to- 

As soon as her knee moved, a pot crashes to the ground and Ivy screeches out some shrill curses, she vehemently refuses to repeat at all. 

After that she quickly left, fearing another possible intimate meeting with some vines (thank you, she had enough cuddling already), and she went down the fire escape to follow the way back to the center of Gotham, watching after the imposing picture of Wayne building towering in the clouds, which worked as a landmark to her.

When she reached the area where more running people and more noises started, she speeded up. Mainly because of two reasons: A. she is hella hungry and B. obviously the flood of humans forces her to.

She winds her body through the entwinement of living and breathing bodies, trying to minimise the contact to one as less as possible while looking out for some cheap restaurant. 

But anyhow she must have followed her muscle memory, triggered by her hunger, because now she realises she ended up at the source of one delicious smell in the air again. Coffee.

Passing the glass doors, she is satisfied with seeing only a few coffee-lusty people in row for ordering. Luck is on her side for once, it won‘t take too much time away waiting in a queue then before she can fully relax.

The scoffing, biting voice of the waitress greets her just as welcoming and gentle as yesterday. Here she can barely hold back a relived sigh at the soft, kind dealing with her, the paying customer. 

„Freakin’ stop dreaming already and order!“ 

A pleasure to savour every time.

She relaxedly smiles, slowly working through the huge list of coffeeined liquids stocked above her head on a wooden panel, while the red-haired woman behind the counter is reduced to pronouncing strangely animalistic-growling noises. „I think I'd liiikeee..,'' she drawls, taking almost guilty-like pleasure when seeing the impatient red head using her nails to angrily scratch off some dried liquid on the wood. ,, A Frappuccino please.“

Today‘s hair style is even more beautiful and well-handled, the bun of red streaks is almost dissolving, so it resembles more a smashed tomato on her scalp than actual hair. Guessing by her sour expression there could be a dripping vegetable on her head for sure.

„Size?“ the rousse growls, the word sounding more like a long, furious hiss than its actual pronunciation.

„I guess-“ Just as she was about to answer, the rest of her sentence is lost forever when the sound of glass breaking drowns her out. Someone slammed the doors open with more force than needed for that so the glass naturally bursted.

Marinette can only sigh since that pretty obviously means her coffee will have to wait again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for cliffhangers and nothing can stop me.
> 
> NOTHING.


	6. Laughter? Shit, wait, no, I ordered- But I Wanted the Manslaughter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She almost sighs out in relief and sudden ease.
> 
> Not minding the fact, that she’s in danger and that people are suffering next to her, she would be ready to stay like this. Laying peacefully, tasting coffee from her sleeve, being able to breathe. 
> 
> What a beautiful life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, Science_your_ass7, admit having a great tendency to making people either fight or argue in my story. 
> 
> Maybe one day, you will see some peaceful stuff. 
> 
> (Probably not really, but maybe) 
> 
> One day.

~  
A person steps inside over the shards of glass, which by the way were totally unnecessary to create the door opens just fine without such an act of force, but NOO, obviously dominance must be shown nowadays. 

A couple of lovebirds, an old lady and a young boy, had been previously peacefully sitting at the tables, enjoying themselves, now rapidly back away towards the walls, forming a small group. Marinette too tired to do anything else, just copies their movements and joins the team.

Honestly, is she surprised? Not really, she always (since ereyesterday; how time is flying when you’re having fun) thought of this city as a pain in her ass.

But satisfied with how it turned out? Definetely not.

The unexpected disturber wears a mask. He probably intended himself to look like a clown, but with the marks of yellow paint? well drizzled and spread over the plastic like good mayonnaise over French fries, it’s pretty difficult to guess.

He (judge her, but she is pretty sure, it is a he) lifts an assault rifle when another one of his kind joins him, holding the same weapon and a black sportive bag in his fleshy hands.

,,Money and valuables,” is the only command they give, before the new clown throws the bag at them.

Short, quick and clear. Marinette must say they absolutely seem more organized than the jerk, she knocked out the first day.

The costumers start rummaging in their pockets and bags in search of anything able to hand over, the boy even trips over a stool, trying to reach his bag pack in panic. The clown guys cackle sneeringly at the show of fear.

Marinette only to seem un-flashy, looks through the insides of her pockets too, despite knowing she has nothing interesting to burrow for. They most likely didn’t come here to get twenty bucks, an anciently old MP3 player and a pistol. 

Seriously, probably their preparations costed more than what they’d get of money if selling her stuff.

Seeming somewhat used to such a situation, the lady quietly took of her earrings while the couple hid their cell phones and note books inside the bag. Without any further ado, the three silently filled the bag with their belongings.

One clown steps closer to grab the bag, while the other threatingly lifts the rifle, shifting the aim to wander between them, should any think it would be smart to attack.

Marinette barely holds back an eye roll, putting her tons of money inside it too.

Obviously any would dumbly jump at them, without any weapons and them being equipped, ready to join the Third World War. Because that would make so much sense as it is.

When the clown returned to his friend with the bag, the aiming one suddenly throws something at the floor in front of them, something round and green, that crushed leaving a cloud of almost glowing like green.. stuff in the air.

Whatever that something is, it’s absolutely not good, that’s for sure.

As expected the people react panicked enough to push each other by side to save their own tails, running as far as possible from it. Yet the green cloud is quick to spread and fills out the whole café. With the clowns now shooting at the only source of light too, the lamps, it seems impossible to locate it in the darkness.

Oh, perfect, breathing strange chemicals has been definetely on her to-do list for today. 

How did they know?

Dry Sarcasm aside, the scenery seems oddly familiar. She could swear green gas, was something she read about in the library, only the memory is always slipping whenever she’s trying to focus on it.

Suddenly the old lady breaks out laughing like a cakkling hyena, bending over in the force of laughter.

Okay, that’s peculiar.

She takes a deep intake of air, ignoring the lady, still trying to remember that darn, tiny information, she needs to survive right now.

Her fingers frustratedly drum against her cheeks.

Oh god, really, now when she needs it?

The couple starts giggling and then evolve into shaking on the floor too.

She glances over at them, feeling uncomfortable with the strangely strangled sounds of their laughing.

Only then she sees the tears in the corners of their eyes. The smiles that more resemble pained grimaces. The way the two lovebirds clutch onto each other in something that could only be described as despair.

Roughly, she slaps herself for being dumb and then jumps at the boy, who is the only one besides to her not already laughing. 

They both crash to the ground, next to the shaking couple and she was about to tell the boy to not breathe the gas, when the unmistakable sounds of bubbling laughter sound beneath her.

Well, that makes one against two now.

She presses her palm to squish her nose and fights the urge to take a relieving intake of air, while being shaken on the laughing boy’s back.

Going on holding her breath, she glances around and tenses when one of the clowns, the one with the yellow paint on his face, notices her. 

Notices that she’s the only one of the civilians not laughing like crazy.

Oh, shiznet.

He lifts the rifle at her in threat, she useless to do anything else than that, stands up, her arms lifted over her head in a gesture of defenseless surrender.

Her lungs ache with the lack of beautiful oxygen and her mind feels like it’s filled with cotton wool, but she vehemently refuses to breathe in that strange gas. Merci beaucoup, but those who did completely lost control over their body reactions, that she can’t let happen. Better she’ll suffer through it than being defenseless against HER OWN FRICKING BODY.

When she shifts, the coat’s front pocket brushes past her thigh and reminds her of the fact that she’s technically not completely defenseless. 

**She has a pistol.**

She may not know how to handle it and will most likely don’t hit even him, but **she has a PISTOL**.

Technically, she could try to pull it out of her pocket and start a gun fight like in these old cliché western movies.

But practically, she will be probably not fast enough and he’ll shoot her. Because just reasonably commented: his focus is completely on her, so he’ll most likely know if she moves attack before she even gets to notice it.

Well, in theory that plan failed **miserably** , so she decides to pull her last trick. Her perfect acting skills.

Letting herself slip to the floor, her knees giving in, her lids closing in exhaustion, she pretends to be losing her conscience after refusing to breathe for that long. The wood is hard and she can already feel a bruise forming at her hip, but she stays like that, not breathing, not moving.

Now only she hopes, he bought off her weak act and won’t stare at her anymore when she will open her eyes again.

Dangerously, slowly, she lets her hand twitch, her fingertips creep over her stomach towards her pocket. 

While her body felt impossibly heavy before and the lack of oxygen made her dizzy, now in a horizontal position it’s almost impossible to not lose her conscience for real.

Only the fear and the fact that she’s pretty much playing with fire right now, keeps her awake enough to panic properly. 

With her eyes now firmly closed, the sounds of gruesome laughter all around of her seemed to have intensified. It seems to haunt her, finds her whereever she might try to hide in her thoughts, painfully reminds her that this is the real life away from Paris.

No Miraculous Ladybug is able to help anybody. No magical object can stop the suffering of these innocents.

The best these people can do is hope for some other mortal humans in costumes to save them.

She muffles a pained whimper, hearing the civilians around her double their laughing so terror-fraught. 

This is absolutely horrid. That’s not supposed for laughter to sound like.

The breathing is too fast and shallow.

The giggles too high and screeching.

The noises of shaking bodies over wood too hectic and unnatural.

She presses her eyelids tighter together, trying to blend it out.

Focus, she needs something to focus on. Her fingers still slipping over the cotton of her coat in slow-motion, while she tries to find anything to zero herself on. 

Skin brushes over heavy, warm fabric. Thick, multiple layers of cotton to create such a piece of long jacket. Would it be hand-made, it would take her at least five good hours to sew it together like this.

Her hand finally slips inside the comforting fabric of the pocket, fingers carefully curling themselves around the pistol.

She won’t dare to open her eyes for now, too great is the fear of being seen. Tensing the muscles in her stomach in hope to fight off the rising pressure, she tries swallowing down the blank panic.

Paris, she thinks, Chat and her friends and family.

Reluctantly forcing her eyelids to open themselves, she now immediately fights against the strong urge to close them again, when the gas causes for her eyes to water in reaction.

The air above her face developed into having an even more unhealthy greenish color and the laughter returned now full force again, sounding more pained than ever, once she spends attention to her surroundings again.

The clowns are moving somewhere to her right, she can hear their shoes walking over the wooden floor.

Since they aren’t laughing like anybody else breathing does, it either means they’re 

a) holding their breath, like she does.

b) immune to it.

Or what she really hopes is right, c) wearing gas masks beneath these clown faces.

If they are indeed wearing these saviors of masks, maybe she can try to bear one down and steal his mask for herself to breathe.

However reminding her sub conscience about breathing, triggered the strong pain again, forcing her to press her lips tighter together to keep them from bursting open, desperately glancing around laying on her back. 

Thank god, there not too far from her lays a transparent plastic cup with coffee inside it. 

Quickly sending an excusing prayer to the beloved coffee gods, she moves her arm and grabs it, to pour the warm liquid all over her coat’s sleeve.

Silently mourning (cats, does it smell **good** ), she presses the now wet sleeve to her face, starting to breathe through the coffee-fabric.

Her lungs immediately lessen their wrenching actions.

She almost sighs out in relief and sudden ease.

Not minding the fact, that she’s in danger and that people are suffering next to her, she would be ready to stay like this. Laying peacefully, tasting coffee from her sleeve, being able to breathe. 

What a beautiful life.

Nonetheless she forces herself to slowly move up to stay in a crouch, keeping her gaze on the now FOUR! clowns at the other corner of the shop. It’s incredible to even form such a thought, but now she’s kind of grateful for the smoke since it helps her to hide.

Blinking a new flood of tears away (honestly, she never cried that much in her whole life), when the gas got to attack her eyes again, she mentally collects herself.

There these four clowns are currently wandering through the café, their weapons NOT in their hands, rounding some fallen stools and tables, and bow down next to the laughing old lady. Three of them holding her limbs, the fourth searches through her pockets in hope to find some more valuables.

With being too distracted to laugh out her throat, the poor woman can’t defend herself and is forced to simply watch being touched against her will.

Marinette bites back a disgusted snarl and starts moving towards them, her pistol securely clutched in her right, ready to be used.

,,Agh,”

The yelp is her way of telling the universe that she tripped. Over the laughing and shaking couple. 

Because, why not?

She quickly stands up again, looking back at the robbers, who are actually not much than ten meters away from her and could have been able to hear her act of grace. 

And yes, her clumsy actions catched attention. But surprisingly only of one clown than the whole squad like she feared.

The clown guy leans his head in, probably, amusement.

She quickly lifts the pistol at the clown. 

He immediately freezes in a half-crouch, waiting for his sentence of death, not knowing that she actually has no idea what she is doing.

Neither moves for a single moment.

Marinette knows, he knows that she knows, he’s defenseless (What a phrase). And he accepted it, he could alarm his friends, but he doesn’t. 

No, he accepted that he will die by her hands. 

But nothing happens. 

He didn’t die and she didn’t shoot.

Determination vibrating in every cell of her body, she moved her index finger, prepared internally to shoot, imagined what kind of sound it would produce once she uses the weapon to kill him, but now when all it takes is to tense the muscle in her finger, she can’t fucking pull the trigger.

She froze too.

And guess why?

She’s afraid. Scared of the sheer idea of willingly taking someone’s life. Killing somebody.

One could have thought that the fact that she doesn’t even know him would help her but it doesn’t. Even her earlier disgust to their avarice is not enough to convince her to shoot.

Wow, she will die. 

But as an admirably moral person. 

Such a consolation prize before her death, a good conscience for her soul.

The man in disguise leans his head in confusion again, after she ceased to kill him. Probably he’s internally cakkling his ass off, because she deviously tricked them into believing she’s knocked out, outsmarted them and dodged the gas, and now she turns out be a pussycat when it comes to murdering.

Multiple personalities, people.

And of course now his friends decided to take notice in her too.

They leave the lady to laugh on her own again, all the four of them standing up to obviously bundle their stares at her.

Marinette muffles the frustrated groan, which is threatening to leave her throat for a while now,  
her hands with pistol still uselessly outstretched.

While they may not have their guns anymore, four men against a tiny girl; unable to defend herself and, more importantly, unable to help these innocent people too; is not exactly her mental image of fairness.

Then Marinette frowns when something, or better someone, creeps up to the clowns from behind, working itself from one hiding spot (the gap beneath the table, simply creative) to the other (behind a chair, really?). 

Someone familiar with a red vegetable on her head and a hand holding a phone.

The rude waitress, what the actual fuck is she trying to reach? 

If she is one of Alya’s kind and came to film the scenery, she will later personally rip off her head.

Anyhow Marinette manages to shift her focus onto the clowns again, who while she had been musing on a revengeful plan, came closer to her, encircling her like a pack of predatory animals their prey.

The rousse behind the best hiding spot on earth, glares at her over the respirator (this is what envy feels like), which only covers half her face and gestures for her to move somewhere else.

Marinette raises a brow at her, grunting humorlessly. And where exactly she thinks she should flee to if the clowns are currently watching her like hawks?

The sound catched the clowns attention again, so they take some even more defensive stances in reaction. 

Why they are not already simply attacking, is a mystery to her. The faster they finish this, the faster she can drink coffee in heaven, like the innocent and good person, she apparently is.

Since they anyhow show no signs of getting active within the next minutes, she decides to speed up the process by pissing them off with her rambling.

Lifting her wet elbow to her face, she speaks up. ,,I- uh, hi! I know probably now’s not the best time, but why exactly clowns?”

The waitress slaps her unvacated hand to her face.

Her soon murderers simply punish her with their silence so she goes on. ,,Are you working for the Joker? Probably, right? So are you trying to stay themed to him then?”

,,Or is it just some kind of odd hobby to please yourselves?” she asks. ,,I mean I don’t judge! It’s totally normal for a group of men to like to dress up in clown masks and go rob some people in cafés!” She nods, her nose faintly recognizing coffee. ,,Totally understandable, I’d do that too if I were you!”

The red-head leans slightly forward, shaking her head in sheer disbelief.

Marinette grins into the wet fabric, a delicious smell tickling on her senses.

One clown guy starts encircling her, the other follow his lead, still neither of them talking a word. 

,,But if I’d were to do that one day, then I would definitely choose a better costume. I mean true, clowns can seem kind of scary, they would laugh and slice your throat meanwhile, like in these horror movies,” she shrugs when the circle of men around her tightens. ,,I guess some people could get some traumatic experiences from that, of course only if they would survive such an attack, what I don’t think. I mean a cut through someone’s throat is pretty deadly, if I’m not mistaken.”

The waitress wildly, angrily, gestures to her phone.

Marinette scowls at her, simply continuing. ,,Okay, alright, if you’re that much into clown costumes, then at least think about some better colours. Bright green is so out for your color scheme. You should tell the Joker about that. Really, purple and green, what kind of drugs had he been under to decide on such a gross combination.” she shivers. ,,Not even mentioned how impractical it is. He is practically a neon billboard in the dark, no wonder Batman always beats him. Obviously -!”

She shuts her mouth when one of the clown finally seemed to have enough of her rambling. He steps towards her, his fists clenched.

Marinette withdrawing her nose from her sleeve and panicking, she steps backwards in reaction, with again having only a pistol to fight.

Ah, shit, here we go again.

Panic kinda overtaking her movements, her inner Ladybug steps up and without further ado throws the weapon, (which is actually used to shoot, she’s doing everything wrong nowadays), at his face. 

It hits perfectly at his forehead with a satisfying slam.

Yet the throw was obviously not enough to knock him out (she’s not THAT strong), it simply confused him enough to trip over the poor laughing couple, like she did a few minutes prior.

He goes down, the lovebirds laugh at him.

She grabs the head phones from her pocket and runs at another clown, swinging them like she would with a yo-yo. Being about to whip it at him, all of sudden a window breaks with someone landing inside the room. The clown, she was about hit, now used her distracted state to punch his fist at her stomach.

She gasps out, the sweet oxygen again leaving her body, tumbling backwards. Her back hits against something hard and solid and she does a roll (or a falling over something) backwards. Groaning, when the world stopped dancing around her for a second, she clutches at her head, adjusting her hat meanwhile too.

Now someone creeps up to her and she tenses. But it’s only (ugh) the waitress again, practically radiating all of the hate in the world with her intense glare.

Leaning the back of her head against the thing; she gracefully stumbled over, hitting her forehead against it too (apparently the hard and solid counter); she closes her eyes in peace, until a certain someone decides to blind her with a flashlight.

,,You are so freaking dumb, you know that?”

Marinette shields her eyes against the laser-like, sudden blow to her, already overwhelmed with strange, acid chemicals, eyes. ,,Would you be so kind to turn off the light,please?” she complains, hissing.

Having forgot about the gas, she now tries and fails biting down a flood of rising giggles when accidentally breathing again.

Thank Kwami, the light disappears and a gas mask is instead shoved into her hands. ,,Here. Take. If you will start now laughing too, then I will go crazy.”

,,Thanks,.. I guess.” Marinette says, stupidly giggling, before putting it on.

A cry of pain is heard somewhere in the background, both females ignore it in favor of sizing each other up. 

Then the rousse rolls her eyes. ,,You’re April, right?”

Marinette laughs, but this time it’s not because of the gas. ,,That’s not my real name,” she admits, rubbing over the area on her stomach where she got hit.

,,I know that, genius,” One more eye roll and these brown eyes will fall out for sure. ,,I just wanted to check if you know.”

The bluenette raises a brow, hearing something (probably someone) being thrown against the counter from the other side. ,,And what is that supposed to mean?”

,,You’re dense. Ignorant. Obviously no Gothamite.”

Marinette whipes her eyes from some tears, which were caused by the gas and trouble the effect of her hard glare. ,,And you’re incredibly annoying.” 

The rousse shrugs, raising her red brows, her face reddened too. (Hah, Triple Red!)  
,,Better than being an imbecile.”

,,Where was that enthusiasm under the chair? You could have helped me, instead of mocking me down now.”

,,I did genius,” Another roll for those poor eye balls. ,,Batman didn’t appear in a haphazard way.”

Oh, the figure that crushed through the window was Batman? He has a thing for dramatic appearances then.

,,I meant as in physically active, felt comfortable chickening out under the chair?”

,,Don’t call me chicken, dense girl.”

,,Don’t call me dense then, chicken.”

They both fall into a battle of stares, until a cough makes them shift their gazes up.

Red Hood (god is he huge) looks down at them, his arms crossed in his huge brown jacket. ,,The clowns are stocked next to the door, police already called, no need to thank me. Is that all?”

Marinette previously didn’t notice the sounds of pained cries disappearing, but now she does. It seems unnaturally quiet now, just the laughter still rings in the background.

Pushing herself up from her sitting position and sweeping some imaginary dirt from herself, she subtly glances and smirks at the waitress, who followed her lead. ,,I thought you said you called Batman?” she casually, innocently remarks.

The red-head throws her a killing glare and nods at the Hero in front of them. ,,Thank you, Red. Please don’t mind the girl, she’s a little stupid.”

Marinette easily ignores her insultment. ,,Merci beaucoup, Red Hood. I liked your jump, it was totally unnecessary since the door is open,” she vaguely gestures towards the shreds of glass. ,,in fact more like utterly destroyed, but it was something.”

He leans his head. ,,Thanks, I guess.”

The rousse meanwhile started whipping the counter with an, appearing literally out of nowhere, cloth in swift movements. ,,My goodness, it’s such a mess again!” she complains. ,,I literally replaced that window just a week ago!”

All of sudden, she then spins to Red Hood, batting her eyelashes in the speed level of a bird’s wings fluttering, her hands folded beneath her chin in a gesture of admiration. ,,You will replace the window, don’t you?” she sweetly asks, leaning towards him.

Marinette’s face turns up in disgust.

Red Hood’s face remains stern. Unsurprisingly, he wears a full-facial, red mask after all. ,,I do not?” he answers, almost excusingly.

The red-head curses, the mask of sugary sweetness now rotten. ,,Like hell, you will!” she snaps, looking ready to wash him to death with the washing cloth in her hand.

Red Hood subtly (not really) moves to have Marinette between him and the red rage incarnate. 

Now the waitress holds a broom (just when and how?) and walks over to the entry, where indeed, Red Hood didn’t praise himself for nothing, is a pile of passed out clowns, neatly stocked onto each other.

The rousse kicks one of their eight feet away and starts cleaning where it had been.

The siren of a police car sounds somewhere in the distance, becoming louder with every second passed, flashing blue and red light can be seen through the created holes (door and window) and glass.

Red Hood stands up straighter. ,,I guess that’s my cue to leave then. Stay safe and be good or you’ll have to deal with me,” he looks back at Marinette. ,,No seriously, Don’t make me fight little girls.” With these words, he runs off through the remaining door.

Marinette then checked on the exhausted and pale civilians and left before the police could have tried to ask her for any documents, she’s not in charge of.

Today definetely won’t be the day, she gets arrested. That honor belongs only to these clowns.

  
__________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Finally. You can have it. 
> 
> Please just don’t take my clothes. 
> 
> Argh!
> 
> No!
> 
> I said not my clothes!


	7. Fist Hickeys and Skittle Spit, (I honestly had to google it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemingly Harley decided otherwise, grabbing her cheeks to pinch them, like old people like to do to their grandkids. (Marinette never got to know this. Luckily. Her Nonna is more into hugging anaconda-style if she's not currently climbing some random mountain in Taiwan or helping some village in Kenya. 
> 
> Of her Grandpa's existence, she wasn't even aware up until last year when he was akumatized and even then he didn’t recognize his grand-daughter when she came to get to know him better. 
> 
> What is normal a family anyway?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This contains emotions and potential cuteness.
> 
> I mean, I had to chug down three coffees to cover up the sweet after-taste. 
> 
> But don’t worry, my soul’s now dark and rotten again, the fun will continue.

~  
,,Hey, Blue,” comes an excited whisper near her ear, something cold grazing her face. ,,Wakey, wakey.”

Someone pokes her cheek with a freezing finger, forcing her to turn her head away from the traitorous cold to burrow her nose into the warm pillow in order to escape the unpleasant sensation of chilliness.

However she groans out muffled into the soft cushion when the fingertip resumes to drawing a trail of cold from her cheekbone to her earlobe, pulling on it now, the sounds of soft giggling telling her torturer is enjoying this, rape of her human right to have sleep, way too much to be a nice person.

The flesh of her earlobe stretches, sending a wave of memories through her fatigue body.

Unpleasant and scary memories of some certain..well, people, trying to steal something certain from specifically her ears. Something important enough for her to remember these occasions with a bitter after-taste of panic.

These goddammit, sacred earlobes have been the place of the one and only Ladybug Miraculous for more than just three years.

Really, people, can anybody blame her?

Marinette's bluebell eyes snap open, her body ready to properly react. 

Gone is the exhaustion and heaviness of sleep, she has some devious, earring-stealing Akuma-guy to take care of.

,,There ya go, Bluey. Awake and cute. We have a lotta things to do. Ya can sleep like a dead girl later, here I am a lil bit bummed ya won’t support the earlee birds in this household, but we can handle that problem later,'' Her malicious henchmen and opponent here in the name of her infamous nemesis, is apparently only a pacing and muttering Harley Quinn, wearing nothing but a white, a bit translucent, over-sized t-shirt. 

That much she can process, blinking away the sleep in her eyes, moving her blanket to warm her shoulders again, having been about to attack her guileless, but guilty (let's be honest, Harley's a bad girl, criminal and ruthless murderer; death is the least, she deserves) half-naked host.

Is that all? Can she go back to sleep now?

Seemingly Harley decided otherwise, grabbing her cheeks to pinch them, like old people like to do to their grandkids. (Marinette never got to know this. Luckily. Her Nonna is more into hugging anaconda-style if she's not currently climbing some random mountain in Taiwan or helping some village in Kenya. 

Of her Grandpa's existence, she wasn't even aware up until last year when he was akumatized and even then he didn’t recognize his grand-daughter when she came to get to know him better. 

What is normal a family anyway?)

,,Did ya shower? Good,'' the blonde leans forward, sniffing at the girl’s hair, the pinching of her cheeks never stopping. ,,Strawberry. Sweet and delicious. Fits. Just like ya, adorable Cutie,'' she gushes.

Finally some brain cell seemed to have returned from it's period of skipping working hours. Marinette removes the invasion of unneeded skin to her face with her own hands. ,,Harley, is there a reason, you have woken me this early?'' 

It's not even past lunch. Still WAY too early after she stayed up late, scrubbing off plates of off food and collecting some questionable parts of lingerie all over the floor in the corridor and actually basically everywhere. The pizza in the fridge put small energy into her muscles, the shower was more to wash off the smell of Joker gas and sweat and the hours, she spent just uselessly, laying on the couch, occasionally wriggling, only added into the state, she is in now.

Her body is sore, her brain demanding sleep and her mood at about the level of a mid-life-crisis, grumpy lady on period. 

There better was a reason to wake her.

,,There **is** ,'' Harley nods wildly, shifting on her feet, her radiant grin only convincing there absolutely isn't. ,,I've **got** a reason.''

Marinette growls at her, imaging the blonde erupting into flames by some higher forces to revenge the sufferings of people, meeting this mental torture disguised as happiness in the mornings. 

,,Oh? Do tell. I'm dying to hear.'' Her dry and fakely sweet tone was planned to have worked as a warning. 

Harley, of course, completely ignores such important signs.

Sitting down next to the bluenette (almost making her fall over in surprise), her thighs on top of her giddy hands, she beams brightly, her teeth widely seen. ,,Did ya sleep well?”

Marinette groans. Honestly it should be forbidden to be this happy in the morning hours.

Yet she is still just a guest here. Being rude towards her hosts won’t bring any good. ,,No, but it was better than nothing at all.” she answers with full honesty, turning to look at the blonde. ,,Thank you.”

Harley’s smile if possible turns even happier. ,,No probs.”

The blonde shifts on her hands, her lips trying and miserably failing to conceal her excitement, while the pigtails on her scalp dance just at least as jittery as their holder. 

Having been about to stop her jaw from dislocating while jawning, Marinette now raises a surprised brow.

Actually it should be nothing strange to see the woman that agitated and energized. She saw (and felt enough) of her quirky compositure yesterday. One thing she can say for sure after one day knowing her: Harley Quinn is a touchy person. She had been constantly searching for any way to stay in contact with somebody. (Even with Marinette, despite not knowing her.) If it was just a fingercup in Marinette’s cheek or an whole arm drapped over Ivy’s shoulders, the blonde loves physical contact.

It‘s ..odd.

Don’t get her wrong, she has nothing against it, hell she had been once a touch-loving person too, but with Akuma‘s always attacking and keeping her on edge, the threat of Lila always being in reach, she withdrawed from the people around her in favor of being able to bear the responsibilities of both Ladybug and Marinette. She hardened to affection. Loving hugs and emotional kisses just aren’t necessary for Paris’ survival. She had to focus onto the priorities. 

Looking back she might come to realize, that she didn‘t let herself the comfort of feeling like a teenage girl at all.

However now, the Marinette here in Gotham, this one can live with three criminals in an apartment and beat up a huge man in an alley with only a jacket and her fists without having to worry of her image as Ladybug being ruined or her friends finding out about her well-protected secrets.

This girl, this one can be different, more reckless, more brave, less like clumsy Marinette, but, or so she hopes, more like Ladybug.

But still fearless Ladybug here is mildly concerned, since while Harley Quinn is, as already noticed, the literal joy incarnate, this giddy, dare she say suspicious, behavior is a whole new level itself. If her tingling Ladybug senses aren’t wrong this whole deportment was not caused by Harley’s natural over-energized body, but by something new. Something possibly concerning her and therefore maybe dangerous.

Is it wrong that she’s feeling kinda positively expectant? She’s pretty sure it should be the other way around.

She wants to ask where Selina and Ivy are, but instead her mouth leaves. „Spit it out already, what got you so agitated?“

(Mission failed. We’ll get them next time.) 

The clown woman squeals, letting out the surpressed cheerfulness through another sudden physical contact. (Oh cats.)

Suddenly and all too sudden (it’s really sudden), finding herself in a tight embrace with a loudly squealing woman, Marinette awkwardly pats her back in return to her fierce show of affection and happiness, feeling intimately embarrassed with the fact that both of them are wearing nothing more than a top and panties. At least the cover is somewhat dividing them, she would have blushed to the roots of her hair otherwise.

While she may have accepted her emotional inability of a brick now, that’s still too much. Especially if all that physical situation so happens to be with a stranger and better, a criminal too. Here her awkwardness can be excused as inexperience in handling a hugging murderer than her discomfort.

Harley breathes out deeply, still wiggling in the hug, and then she withdraws, holding the girl’s shoulders with her hands. 

„ ‘Kay, I have a surprise for ya. Apparently Kitty Cat played with some connections of hers, (he’s some slimy guy, yuck, can‘t believe she‘s still talking to that slimy slimebag), but he knows how to fake documents and all that boring stuff, so we got ya a name and also, maybe I won’t kill him since,” she takes a deep breath after ranting down valuable information for a full minute. ,,BLUE! He got ya a fucking place in the freaking Gotham Academy!!!“ she suddenly screeches, shaking Marinette by her shoulders in an overload of emotions, making the girl’s head feel dizzy with blood being moved and emotions boiling under her skin.

She‘s not feeling guilty. 

She‘s really not.

It‘s not like she‘s using them and they have no idea of that. It‘s not like Harley Quinn is as sweet as a fluffy muffin in caramel sauce and wrapped around with sparkling cotton candy (sweet), that she even applied her to a local school, on top seemingly also to one with a great reputation.

They really think she‘ll be staying. With them. In Gotham.

And she didn‘t tell them the ugly truth. No matter how she tried fighting it, she‘s still lying. Just like she did to her parents when they wondered why she‘s often so sleepy in the mornings after Hawkmoth decided to cancel another night of sleep for her, with another dumb Akuma idea. Just like when Alya wanted to meet up after school to visit a new café and she everytime had to excuse herself due to patrolling in the evenings with Chat.

This American woman barely even knows her. Heck, she’s still refusing to tell her name, at least here warning bells should have started ringing, but no matter to that, Harley Quinn treats her like some friend (and not even a drop like some strange girl who threatened to shoot them in their own home like she actually deserves). 

She’s treated like Harley actually gives an honest care about her.

It‘s such a peculiar information to know that, Joker‘s ex-girlfriend, crazy psychopath and hammer-swinging, twintails-wearing blonde cares about her. It’s so shame-filling and morally conflicting to realize Harley is kind enough to ignore her tons of mishaps (Harley doesn’t even know about the majority of these) to help, that the bluenette returns the hug, ignoring her embarrassment for once and squishing her nose into the woman’s collarbone to hide from the hard guilt pawing at her thoughts.

Harley tightens her hold on her gladly as if she‘d been just waiting for her to take the initiative. Maybe that’s even exactly what she did. 

„Merci beaucoup, Ms. Quinn.“ she whispers, her voice heavy, when the blonde chuckles, the laugh vibrating against her cheek. „My, my, skip the formalities, kiddo. Just call me Auntie Harley! Not even my dear, ol’ momma is called that way.“

Marinette has a little smile on her lips, feeling a warmth spreading in her stomach. „Thank you, Auntie Harley.“

The blonde breathes in deeply, her hands rubbing comforting circles onto the bluenette’s spine.

Then Harley un-clings herself from Marinette and jumps onto her feet, a satisfied grin forging her face. Grabbing and dragging the half-naked bluenette after herself, they both stop in the kitchen, in front of the stove. ,,I made ya breakfast. Here,” she pushes a startled Marinette onto a bar stool and sits her down before turning around and clattering with kitchen supplies meanwhile humming something un-understandable but happy. ,,I’m maybe not the best of a cook, but I tried.” 

Placed onto the counter in front of her is a plate with a slice of enhanced pizza. 

Oh, Harley, she wants to sigh since the gesture alone is so goddamn sweet and caring. 

But what’s so different about the pizza to call it enhanced, one may ruin the moment now. 

Well for one it’s burned. Not just roasted a bit too long with the colour starting to shade from brown to a little darker ombré, but BURNED to not have any traces of brown seen anymore and with black dominating the whole picture. 

Secondly about two-thirds of her black breakfast is covered in tons of ketchup too. 

Is now a bad moment to mention she absolutely **distastes** ketchup?

Harley stares at her anticipatingly, her hands folded beneath her chin in the thrill of her excitement while her naked legs are trying to stay un-moving, but still the occasionally bounce of her knee tells her attempts are un-successful.

Marinette meanwhile stifles the whine of mental pain and wants nothing more than to be mercifully swallowed and digested by the ground. 

Okay, burned food she can handle. In her glorious history of becoming a baker’s daughter, she roasted enough macaroons and accidentally inflamed enough crême brûlée’s to be acquainted with the local fire fighters. 

But really. 

Of all things to torture her with. 

Ketchup.

And in such masses too.

Please tell her, she’s not forced to eat-drink this now.

Carefully Marinette lifts one, not soaked in ketchup, corner with her fingertips, looking over to Harley to eye her reaction, partly hoping her host will see her troubles and dispose this breakfast before it can make someone having to drive into the hospital. 

However the blonde only nods energetically, and remains blissfully oblivious.

Sighing and accepting her fate, Marinette closes her eyes and takes a bite. The urge to throw up battling to win, she quickly swallows and feels the dry, ketchup-pizza only slowly traveling down her throat. When it finally fell into her stomach, she drowns the immediate body reaction of gagging and shivering at the strong after-taste of spicy tomato.

You can say whatever you want, but ketchup is just the spawn of the devil. 

Fighting a grimace, Marinette hums approvingly, nodding slowly while hopefully un-suspiciously moving the plate a little away from herself. ,,Wow, Harley. I’m surprised with how.. the ketchup is complementing the pizza so well.” (Is this a lie? She’s really surprised after all how strong the tomato together with the burned pizza is murdering her sense of taste.) ,,I never ate something like this before.” (True.) ,,Thank you.” 

Harley giggles. ,,Thanks, I tried. Ya gotta have some energy for today. We have a lotta planned after all.”

There it is again: the subtle hinting onto some plans for both of them. Also Harley’s excitement means this will be fun for her. Fun is good, fun is funny. (How articulate and creative) However what kind of fun, Harley is into, is what makes her actually worry.

Marinette narrows her eyes at her, propping her elbows onto the counter. ,,Why do I feel like I won’t like what you have planned?”

A snort from Harley resonates. ,,Because ya won’t,” she answers, turning to the coffee machine. (Imagine her relief when she firstly found this goddess beneath a paper square of pizza yesterday. She fucking weeped with snot running down her face. Not one of her glorious moments, but at least she was alone in the apartment so nobody was able to witness her minute of weakness. Afterwards she drowned her bare emotions in coffee anyway so now she’s as hard as old cookies now.) 

,,Since I’m pretty sure, I won’t get to protest against your ideas anyway,” Marinette speaks up after having been lost in her wonderful memories. ,,You can as well just tell me.” 

Harley turns back to her, two empty cups in her hands, and shrugs. ,,‘Kay, but I already told ya. I’m just a lil’ surprised ya’re not rushin’ already,” Seeing her pensive frown, Harley puts down the cups and steps forward to pat the girl’s cheek lovingly. ,,Oh, Blue, ya’re so pure and oblivious, what do I gotta do with ya?”

„Oblivious?“ she repeats the blonde’s words somewhat insulted. Because, Hello?! She pointed a pistol at Harley and her friends just a damn day ago! Did she already forget about that? 

This is not her definition of a pure and innocent girl, she is probably the most mature teenage girl on earth, if she’s allowed to correct. Silently muttering a French insultment (Not pure), she taps her index finger against the marble of the counter impatiently. ,,Telling me about your plans with me, would be nice for a start.”

Harley grins ironically, fiddling on the wonder of physics and biology, able to create coffee in less than a minute. ,,I just told ya, ya got accepted, darling. Where else does a cutie student will go than to her new school?”

,,Oh.” Wow, that she could have guessed. She really wants to reach inside her skull right now and poke her brain to wake it. How is it possible that the craziest and most creative ideas can claim to have a home in her brain, when she appears to be too dense to realize the most obvious things. Maybe it’s her heavy prejudices again. Obviously (sadly) even Ladybug has her little irks and quirks. 

Harley lifts the two cups to stand next to the coffee machine. Two not one, notabene. 

She already felt overjoyed when the woman suddenly takes out a bottle of orange juice, fills one COFFEE cup with it and puts it down in front of her. 

Naturally her face darkens.

The woman casually leans against the fridge, smiling at the, sulking down at her definitely not-Coffee, Marinette. „I have EVERYTHING planned out. Your school uniform is in my room, ya can go get it, but don’tcha touch ma stuffies.“ she lifts her finger, her lips pursed, serious like a priest. ,,They’re sacred and holier than any shit on this world.”

She raises a questioning brow, but nonetheless stands up to walk to get her new school outfit. It’s pretty handy, she’s required to wear it, since it’s not like she has any clean or appropriate clothes for outher appearances anyway.

Now after following the way of the corridor, she stands in front of a wooden door and quickly recognizes the room to belong to Harley. 

How did she guess so quickly without having been near any of these chambers in fear of getting accused of snooping while absently cleaning, one may ask now? (That’s a metaphorical situation, obviously nobody would care enough to ask)

Well for one, the black caption, which reads ~Room of Harley, I’m probably naked at this moment, enter at your own risk~ is pretty clear. 

For two, the million stickers of clowns and puppies plastered all around the caption are actually a good indication too. 

Fondly shaking her head at the silliness taking place on a normal bedroom door, Marinette opens the door and slips inside. 

She doesn’t exactly know what she expected, but it looks like a relatively normal bedroom to her. In the center, a pink canopy bed with tons of fluffy cushions and stuffed animals, on the floor, an invasion of worn clothes and packaging of sweets, in one corner, a shelf with action figures of both Gotham’s Heroes and Villains and a huge black closet with a mirror. From the ceiling is hanging a basic, round lamp casting soft light down on her figure. 

Killing the urge to snoop around until she finds some proof to her suspicions, she steps forward to the canopy bed and takes a scrutinizing look at the outfit laying there. It’s blue. A three-piece. A darker blue and black in several squares skirt and a plain white blouse with a blue blazer. Ignoring her heart breaking into seven pieces at the relatively boring design, she starts putting it on.

At least, it fits. The sleeves of her blouse are a little too long and the blazer too big, but it looks a little more casual than serious this way. Like she meant to rock the over-sized fashion industry and not the local stock exchange. 

Of course, there is still the problem of her bare legs. Gotham won’t be kind to these, she knows. So there is the choice between either freezing to death or robbing out some local clothes store for some thick tights. Maybe she can convince Harley to join her emergency raid. 

Nonetheless she got to convince that the quality of the school uniform is actually good. Presumedly the Gotham Academy is a school for kids of rich parents then, who paid to guarantee their children a uniform, which won’t decompose the very first year of wearing it. Good for them, bad for her. She will stick out like a poor raven in this, in money-bathing, group of peafowls. 

Quickly glancing around and indeed noticing no one than the eyes of the plushies on her (just in case), she for once allows herself the immature pleasure to perform a little, childish twirl. The skirt is long enough to end a little bit above her knees, so the movement in circle made the material covered in black and blue squares, fly around her, the dark colors blurring together. 

She was in the middle of another spin, when she trips over her own foot, loses balance and crashes against the closet. One of it’s doors opens and hard contents fall down on her. Blinking shocked at the sudden change in situation, Marinette un-movingly lies there on the carpet with all of her limbs widely out-stretched like a starfish against the glass of an aquarium.

Oh, heavens.

Is this..?

She carefully attempts to move up and immediately gasps out, her hand coming to cover her gaping mouth. 

Oh yes, these are weapons on top of her. Hammers. Pistols. Knifes. (Thank Kwami in their sheaths) Baseball bats. Ropes. Swords. Revolvers.

Should she continue?

Because there is more.

,,Blue, are you okay in there?” The main door suddenly opens and Harley’s head pokes inside. 

Marinette still too shocked to do anything else, mutely stares up at her. ,,I-I,” she stutters out, and then roughly slaps her face to erase the stupid stutter from her system and restart her brain. ,,It was an accident, I swear.” she croaks, quickly standing up and pushing the harmful properties of Harley Quinn of off herself. 

Harley looks at her regretful face, then at the weapons on the carpet and then at her again. As the conclusion of her musing, she firstly snorts loudly and then completely bursts out laughing. She fucking cries and doubles over, while Marinette stands there rather dumbly and shuffles on her feet, occasionally adjusting her blazer. 

After about fifteen minutes or something like that, Harley finished laughing. ,,I, Blue, ya,” she chokes out. 

Marinette bites onto her lip. ,,Yes?”

Harley wipes her eyes from tears of laughter and pats the girl’s head. ,,Ya’re too pure. And cute. Let’s go, yar lessons won’t wait for ya.”

Harley is the first one to leave the chamber. Marinette walks behind of her, fighting off the embarrassment being about to color her face. 

Harley is right, she reacted like a fucking fearful, five-year-old girl. 

What did she expect?

This is Harley Quinn, she can keep as much weapons in her closet as she wants. And of course she won’t immediately shoot her for accidentally spilling the contents of her closet. If she would have wished her harm, she could have killed her while she slept or just yesterday together with the others, but she didn’t. Also she took the effort to apply her to a school, so it wouldn’t make any sense to just kill her now after she spent so much time to help her. 

Yet still there remains a spark of healthy fear in her brain.

Not really wanting to address her little failure, but knowing she needs to, Marinette clears her throat. ,,Auntie, I,”

Harley speaks up before she could have finished the sentence. ,,Bluey, ma niecey, lemme look at ya.”

Stepping a little away from her to show her appearance, Marinette swallows thickly, while Harley examines her. ,,Ya could be a perfect Wayne, black hair, feisty and smart, blue eyes,” her gaze wanders lower. ,,Nice Blues.”

,,Huh?”

,,Yar purple mushrooms are some intense skittle spit” 

Marinette blinks at her in confusion. ,,Pardon?”

,,Aw, come on! Fist hickeys?”

Harley pouts now. ,,Your battle marks all over your legs,”

Marinette looks down at her legs, which are covered in several bruises in different states of recovering. It’s an oddly colorful and therefore inspiring picture. (I mean everybody can have legs, but who can claim them to be a walking picture of art?)

Out of suddenly picked curiosity, she lifts her blouse and pushes the skirt a little lower to see her right hip. ,,Oh, damn, Blue. That's some impressive bruise ya've got there."

Marinette hums, carefully tracing the rims of the blue stain on her hip bone and wincing. ,,I may have had a bit of trouble," 

,,Did ya give as good as ya got?" 

,,Not really," Marinette grunts. ,,But most of the bruising was done by a counter anyway, so.."

,,I've fought a lotta opponents, but a counter was never one of these," Harley smiles. ,,Good job.”

Marinette smiles back, covering her hip with her clothes again. ,,Thank you.” 

They stand there in silence until Marinette decides to break it. ,,Sooo, could you for any chance lend me some black tights?”  
___________

They both left the appartment to stand inside a garage, a street away from the borough of the apartment.

„Before I‘m sitting down on THAT, do you even have a license?“ 

Their choice of transport is a motorcycle. Of course, it wouldn’t just be a peaceful and safe motorroller, no, it’s a freaking monster of motorbike with flames on its sides and huge wheels just like meant to drive someone over.

If by her bad feeling is about to tell, then they will both die soon.

Harley Quinn shoves one red helmet onto her head and grins wickedly with a black one on too. „Kind of.“

She adjusts the plastic to not hide her eyes anymore since it’s too big. „What do you mean with kind of? Either it‘s no or yes, there’s nothing meant to be in between! And also „Kind of“ means more no than yes to me.“

„Oh, chilllaax! I never ever lost someone on ma little darlin‘ here!“ she pats the leather seat in affection.

„Nope, I‘m not coming with you.“ she states, crossing her arms defensively. She pouts childishly, the helmet falling into her face again, but for once she doesn’t care. This really can’t be the way, her adventurous life will end after surviving this much already.

Yet Harley only has a cheesire grin on face, her red lips twitched in satisfaction and glee. „Ya don‘t have a choice, Blue. Ma little blue niecey!“ she cooes.

Marinette huffs out in frustration, not wanting to accept her victory, despite knowing well enough how the blonde is right. She does not know where the school is and definitely won‘t make it in time on her own. The way of suicide is her only chance.

„I hate you. We will both die a violent and agonizing death.“ she foresees realistically. However Harley just laughs off her pretty much possible fears and sits down on top of the huge suicidal machine.

„Awww, I luv‘ ya too, Blue! Now hop on, we have a cutie student to deliver!“ she chirps, before the bluenette reluctantly sighs and even more reluctantly complies.

As soon as her but touched the leather, the engine roars loudly and she screams out in surprise when the bike suddenly rushes forward. Clutching her driver‘s biceps like a lifeline (apparently it is) in fear of accidentally falling backwards, she yowls. „MERDDEE!“ 

When the wind aggressively hits her cheeks (read: coldly smacks them), she hides her face behind Harley‘s back and presses herself tighter against her driver.

She can still hear her laughter over the roaring wind as they take a curve and angry cars horn at them. 

Daring to glance over her (newly) aunt‘s shoulder, she sees her steering right towards a mass of standing cars on the street.

Harley‘s arms tense, when she yells against the breezes. „Hey, move yar asses, butcheeks! Here are people who‘d like to get through!“

Obviously, neither the cars nor the drivers react, but then suddenly sharply the transport turns to the left, instead driving over the pedestrian walk now.

They get shaken as the wheels drive over the uneven stones and people stare at them in disbelief and shock when they’re passing them, if they‘re not currently busy with running for their lives right now. 

Harley Quinn turns a bit to look at Marinette and smiles winningly. „See? That‘s how ya handle a traffic jam in ol’ Gotham.“

The bluenette panically hits her hand against her shoulder a few times to turn her attention to the street again. „Holy -Children!“

The bike merely dodges a group of kids in bagpacks, she then breathes out in relief as a man jumps by side to save himself of getting squished under their wheels. „Sorryy!!“ she yells to him as Harley changes to driving on the streets again.

„My little darlin‘ served me for a few years now, never let me down-“ Harley tells, while Marinette stares at the pavement in front of them which has familiar white stripes.

„HUMANS!“ she shrieks, pinching her driver’s biceps again. Yet the blonde merely reacts by snorting. 

„-I got ‘er from ma poppa, he loved her just as much as-“

Now she burrows her nails into her shoulders, her voice raising at least an octave. „ **HUMANS!** “

The clown woman giggles (fucking giggles!) at her screams of pure panic and horror. „Blue, don’tcha worry, they‘ll jump aside.“

The motorbike roars as a passing woman screeches out in fear and pushes a man by side, who in return makes everybody fall like bricks of domino. Marinette tightly closes her eyes to not see the incoming bloody mess, not wanting to have it burned into her memory for the rest of her life.

But really don’t ask her what god had mercy on her, somehow they managed to not hit anybody. That she notices that when hears no crash, no screams or moans of pain.

„Yeah, where were we? Ah, I had the theory he named me after the bike, I was prettey flattered, it‘s a beautiful darlin‘ afterall!“

They stop, the engine cools down. The bluenette leans against the driver’s figure in exhaustion, trying to hold back the urge to throw up somewhere and to show the world Harley’s talents in cooking.

„Mission accomplished, ya can thank me later, Blue.“ Harley sings.

Marinette stands up and presses her hand to her mouth to push the ketchup-pizza back inside, while noticing out of her peripheral vision, a few neatly dressed students curiously stare over at them and the flashy bike. 

She notices it with a bitter taste in her mouth, since she needs no attention to her persona. Attention means curiousity and curiousity means questions, questions, she pretty much can‘t answer with her no-lie policy.

„I think I might throw up for a while, but I‘m good, _you can leave now. We have a crowd_ ,“ she says through her teeth and looks at her meaningfully, before quickly pushing down the ventail of the blonde‘s helmet, which was (oh, holy Jeezes,) the whole ride over not closed.

Harley Quinn, (whose famous face is thank god shielded by the plastic now) sniffs. 

Marinette rolls her eyes, having an idea to what it‘ll lead. „My little niecey, so mature and pretty. Can‘t have her ol’ auntie let be seen near her anymore.“

Marinette covers her face with one hand in embarrassment and shakes her head, groaning. „Oh my god, Harley, _you‘re not even my real aunt and you aren‘t even older then thirty_.“

Here the woman stops moving, completely freezes, what is incredibly concerning, if anybody would recall her normally really energetic behaviour. 

„Ya want me to be yar real aunt?“ Harley suddenly surprisingly _gently_ asks.

Unexpecting, the girl blinks surprised by that. 

Wow, this is,.. wow. Is Harley really suggesting to adopt her for real? Like real-real? That’s oddly heart-warming considering their previous history. She, wow, she didn’t expect for Harley to be so suddenly sensitive and understanding. Maybe..

Harley cackles sneeringly from under her helmet. 

„Oh man, your face! Come here, lemme hug my little niecey!“ Harley doesn‘t wait for her answer, she just grabs her. Marinette sighs, but then melts into the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks up from her cell phone, surprised*
> 
> ,,Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just trying to finish this chapter here.”
> 
> *looks back down at her edits and scowls*
> 
> ,,Now listen here, ya little motherfucker,”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever published work.
> 
> English is not my native language.
> 
> Will you notice any pesky mistakes in grammar or language in all, please record them to the author and they will be immediately brought to court to serve their sentence of hard and ruthless punishment.
> 
> But all in all, have a good day!


End file.
